


Blades of Temptation

by kurtsontop



Category: Glee
Genre: Blades of Temptation, Klaine, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:13:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 77,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1260970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurtsontop/pseuds/kurtsontop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been four years since Kurt and Blaine broke up, leaving Blaine alone in Lima with his abusive father and Kurt following his dreams in NYC. Kurt has a boyfriend, a sure career at Vogue.com and excelling grades at NYADA. Everything is going perfect until he runs into his ex-boyfriend and comes down with a severe case of White Knight Syndrome. Kurt follows his heart but the weight of the love may drag him down just a bit too far. Kurt's POV.  Warnings for drugs, suicide attempts, self-harm, language and sexual mentions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Heart's Crippled By the Vein That I Keep On Closing

**Author's Note:**

> My lovely co-author and I decided to write a fic. He writes Blaine's POV (Stained Glass) and this is Kurt's POV. We update every Sunday. Enjoy!

_But I don't care what they say,_

_I'm in love with you._

_They try to pull me away,_

_But they don't know the truth._

**_My heart's crippled by the vein,_ **

**_That I keep on closing._ **

 

            "Well, Kurt Hummel, you seem like a wonderful man."

            Kurt blinked. That could mean so many things. Wonderful as in "thank you so much, but we won't be acquiring your talents today" or wonderful as in "I'll let you take the job as long as you give me handjobs twice a day in the bathroom"? He swallowed hard, directing his gaze away from the scrawny man with a clipboard clutched in his hands. He'd blown yet another interview. How was he supposed to pay rent now?

            "I'd be very happy if you'd consider joining our staff."

            Kurt jumped up eagerly, grinning broadly. "Thank you, sir. Thank you so much, I promise I won't disappoint," he said.

            Frank, the current manager of the Spotlight Diner smiled fondly, his skin stretching tightly over his prominent cheekbones like elastic. He reminded Kurt a bit of a stick, if sticks had beady brown eyes and wispy orange-colored hair. "I'm glad you'll be fulfilling the position. I expect you here at seven thirty every morning, Monday through Saturday, because the diner opens at nine. We'll be performing numbers every day and I expect you to have the lyrics memorized. Got it, Kurt?"

            Kurt rubbed his clammy hands on either side of his white skinny jeans and nodded frantically. "Yes, sir, I understand."

            Frank pushed the rainbow beads that separated the back room from the red and black circular tables of the diner. Waiters and waitresses twirled around, balancing trays featuring various dishes across their arms as they danced to a song that blared over the speakers hung on each wall.

            It was by no means where Kurt had envisioned himself, but it would give him enough money to get himself to where he did want to be. He couldn't wait to get home and tell Aaron about his day.

            The bell over the front door tinkled as Frank held it open for Kurt. "It was great meeting you today, Kurt. I look forward to seeing you bright and early tomorrow morning!" he exclaimed.

            Kurt shook his hand and started on his way, grinning so brightly that even the stony grey sky couldn't weaken his mood. A light rain began to fall from the sky, drenching the lively New York City and all of its inhabitants. Despite the outfit he had so carefully put together last night, and the fact that he would have to take it to the drycleaners once he got home, Kurt held out his arms and titled his face up to the sky.

            The cool rain soaked his face and trickled down his neck, washing away all of his anxieties and stress and replacing it with a temporary sense of carelessness. With a smile playing on his lips, Kurt popped the collar of his trench coat and started off down the slick sidewalk.

            He hailed a cab and to his surprise, one of the bright yellow vehicles yielded immediately. It was rare that he ever had the luck of getting one of the ever-moving taxis to take him home, but it felt like the entire world was on his side today.

            Kurt could barely contain his excitement as he climbed inside of the warm cab and told the driver his address. He sat back against the leather seats and debated texting Aaron to let him know he had gotten the job. Kurt envisioned his boyfriend's face; the way his baby blue eyes would widen in surprise when he read the message, and then his fingers would fly across trhe keyboard as he typed an enthusiastic reply.

            Finally, Kurt decided against it. He wanted to be able to see Aaron's reaction the exact moment he told him. Kurt glanced out the misted window at the busy streets; the people that hurried by with umbrellas propped overhead, the propaganda artists who loitered on the rainy pavement, broadcasting their latest products, the tourists who darted into the nearest shops with maps held over their heads. It was all so beautiful in a hectic sort of way.

            As the cab slowed and stopped in front of a red light, Kurt caught sight of a man walking alone through the streets. He wore a dark grey coat, a tuft of ebony curls sticking out from beneath his rain-streaked hood, as he hunched over and strutted purposefully through the puddles. There was something about his tense posture and determined stride that made Kurt frown and furrow his brow, wanting nothing more than to get out of the cab and give him a tight hug.

            Kurt understood more than anything what having a bad day felt like. He could remember every single bad day he'd had over the past twenty-one years of his life. One bad day in particular was etched into his memory permanently with a sharp blade.

 

             _There was a dark ring of indigo around his eye, obliterating Blaine's perfect, olive complexion. Kurt sighed, wrapping his fingers around the Styrofoam frame of his non-fat grand Mocha._

_"What happened this time?" he asked, already knowing the answer._

_"Boxing accident?" Blaine replied uncertainly. He was always so bad at lying to Kurt._

_Kurt took a deep breath. "Blaine..."_

_"Kurt, stop. Please. It's fine, it doesn't matter. It'll heal in a few days, it always does. Now, you're leaving tomorrow and I'd rather not spend my last face-to-face conversation with my boyfriend talking about what may or may not have happened during a boxing accident," Blaine insisted._

_"We've talked enough about New York, Blaine," Kurt said slowly, watching his boyfriend's gaze carefully. Blaine was like a thin sheet of glass; if you stepped in the wrong spot, he would crack. "This is serious. You_ need  _to do something before it gets out of hand."_

 _Blaine's eyes squeezed shut, his hands curling into fists on the table surface. "I_ can't."

             _Kurt was exasperated. How could Blaine be so damn naive about what was happening to him? "Your father is beating you," he exclaimed, dragging his fingers through his perfectly coiffed hair and not giving a moment's thought to all the time he had spent that morning making every hair stay in place._

 _"I know exactly what he's doing! You really think that I don't know that it's not right? That I'm not scared to go home all the time because that's all I have to go back to? I'm so_ scared _, Kurt."_

 _The absolute_ agony _in Blaine's voice made his heart break and he turned away from him, trying to focus on anything but the man he loved sitting in front of him. The setting of the Lima Bean was all too perfect, people bustling around and exchanging petty conversation over iced coffees and biscotti. Didn't they see Blaine? Didn't they see all the pain sitting a couple tables away?_

_Biting the inside of his lip to keep from crying, Kurt straightened up and glanced back at his boyfriend. "Then do something about it." He reached across the table and pulled Blaine's fingers from his cup, stroking them lightly and squeezing reassuringly._

_"I can't," Blaine repeated, his gaze fixed at a coffee stain embedded into the table top._

_"Yes, you can! You're so much stronger than this Blaine, I know you are. Go to the police. Tell them what he's doing to you."_

_Blaine ripped his hand away abruptly as if he'd been burned, "I_ _can't! Don't you see that if I went to someone it would just make it so much worse? Where would I go? My mom ran away the same way you're telling me to. Except I will have nobody. Who am I going to go to? You're leaving for New York tomorrow and as much as you say your father likes me, I doubt he'd want to take me in. And I don't want to live with some stranger. It's not as easy as you make it seem."_

 _Something tight coiled inside of Kurt, winding and twisting and stretching tighter with every word that left Blaine's mouth. Sympathy? Maybe. Pain? Yes. Anger? Probably. "So help me understand. Why is running away so bad? Why is getting help so bad? He's_ hurting _you, for god's sake!"_

_"He's my dad, Kurt!" Blaine stood up from his chair, pulling his bag on his shoulder. "He's all I have left! Mom's gone. You're leaving. Nobody else cares. He's the only person who still loves me. He looks after me, and sure sometimes he gets stressed out, but he always apologizes. It's like if your dad were to beat you. Your mom is gone and he's all you really have left. If he hit you, would you turn him in? Would you lose the one person that matters the most just because sometimes he has a temper?" Blaine turned on his heel, starting towards the door._

_Shaking his head, Kurt grabbed his cardigan off the chair and hurried after his boyfriend. "Blaine, stop, please just listen to me! It's not the same. He's been hurting you since you were nine years old, do you really think that's okay? Your mom would've taken you with her if she could've, but-"_

_Blaine wheeled around suddenly, his hazel eyes flashing dangerously in the bright sunlight that flooded the parking lot. "No, Kurt, she wouldn't have! Because my mother, contrary to your belief, really doesn't give a damn about me!"_

_"You're being unreasonable," Kurt declared. Anger was flaring up inside of him, dangerous and wild like a fire._

_Blaine laughed coldly. "Oh,_ I'm  _being unreasonable? How the_ fuck  _am_ I  _being unreasonable?"_

_Kurt took a step back, flinching at the swear. Blaine never swore. Tentatively, he extended his hand to touch Blaine's shoulder comfortingly but Blaine shook his head and ducked out of his reach._

_"You just don't get it. And you never will."_

_The words hit Kurt like a slap in the face. "That's not fair and you know it."_

_Blaine rolled his eyes and started back towards his car, furiously digging the keys out of his pocket. Kurt trudged wearily after him. "What's unfair?" Blaine called over his shoulder. "That my father hits me and I can't do a thing about it? Or that I have a boyfriend who is leaving me alone with that...that monster?"_

_The coil inside of Kurt snapped then, tossing him into a turmoil. His hands shook from where he had shoved them in his pockets, but he threw his shoulders back and narrowed his eyes, blinking back the tears that threatened to overflow. A single word bubbled up from his heart to his throat and froze on his tongue like an unwanted aftertaste._

_"Courage, Blaine."_

_Blaine's back when rigid and he whirled around, a single corkscrew curl free from his helmet of gel. "Excuse me?"_

_"You're a hypocrite. How can you tell me to be ‘courageous', to ‘stand up in the face of my demons', but then you run away from_ yours  _like a goddamn coward?" Kurt said. His voice came out much calmer than he felt and he prided himself for a moment before everything in Blaine's face shattered like glass._

_"This is nowhere close to the same thing!" Blaine cried._

_Kurt swallowed, looking at everything but his boyfriend and the hurt that swelled up behind his eyes like a tidal wave. "You know what? Fine. Have it your way. I tried to understand, I tried to help you, but how am I supposed to do that if you won't let me in? I'm going to New York tomorrow, Blaine, I can't be held back by somebody who tells people to do one thing but then won't follow through on his own advice. That's not fair to me and it's not fair to you. I love you, you know that. But I just can't do this anymore."_

_Kurt turned away hurriedly before he could see the tidal wave in Blaine's face break. His shoulders hunching and his heart crumbling in on itself, Kurt walked away from the only man he had ever loved._

            Kurt found that same crushing sensation return to his chest as the memories flitted through his mind. He wasn't proud of what he had done that day, but he knew it was the best thing for himself. It was selfish, he had come to the conclusion several days later while sitting on his unpacked boxes in his shoebox apartment, but it was necessary.

            Kurt handed the taxi driver a crumpled twenty and then added an extra dollar just because he was in a good mood as he exited the vehicle, dashing into the rain for a brief moment before ducking into his apartment building. The excited hype returned to him as he punched the elevator button for the ground floor and slid inside of the poorly furnished elevator.

            The cheesy elevator music did little to suppress his excitement as he bobbed up and down with anticipation. Aaron was going to be so happy, so proud of him, so relieved that he could finally pay his half of the rent.

            At last, Kurt slid his room key into the slot and heaved open the thick metal door. Immediately, he was overwhelmed with the impending fragrance of roses and candle incense. He slipped inside, blinking rapidly against the dim lighting of the living room.

            "Aaron?" Kurt shouted as he hung his damp coat on the kitchen chair and made his way through the apartment. A pathway of red and yellow rose petals was scattered across the crème-colored shag carpeting, leading from the kitchen to Kurt's bedroom.

            Kurt smiled as he pushed open the door to his bedroom and peered inside. Aaron was sitting on top of his bed, wringing his hands together in his lap as he glanced toward his phone on the nightstand every couple of seconds.

            Kurt cleared his throat. Alarmed, Aaron jumped to his feet. At the sight of his boyfriend, he straightened out his clean, white t-shirt and khakis, grinning tentatively. His shaggy blond hair hung over his light, sky blue eyes as he stepped forward and bit his lip, ducking his head in that sheepish way Kurt adored.

            "I-I wanted to do something special for you, since I know how worried you were about your interview today. I thought some candles and roses would cheer you up, in case you didn't get the job." Aaron lurched suddenly, as if he were mentally chastising himself. "I-I didn't mean that I didn't think you wouldn't get the job. I mean-"

            Kurt stepped forward and pressed his lips to Aaron's, reaching his arms around his neck and tangling his fingers in the soft hair that twisted into curls at the base of his neck. Aaron relaxed into the kiss, his hands resting almost hesitantly on Kurt's hips.

            Kurt was tall, but Aaron was taller. He was a lanky and scrawny figure, his head nearly brushing the ceiling of every place they went, but Kurt loved the height difference. He felt so safe tucked in the crook of Aaron's gawky neck. He had only ever been with Blaine, who was short enough that Kurt had to crane his neck every time they kissed.

             _Damn._ Kurt wasn't supposed to be thinking about Blaine; he was supposed to be enjoying a pleasant evening with his boyfriend after a harrowing day. Even as Aaron intertwined their fingers and lead him to the floor where a neat, picnic dinner rested, Kurt couldn't help the way his eyes flickered over to the red and yellow roses that sat in a blue vase on his dresser. And he certainly couldn't help the way his mind was thrown back to a hot summer day, when a young eighteen year old boy brought his boyfriend a bouquet of those exact same flowers and told him that he loved him.


	2. I'm A Nervous Wreck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's lyrics come from Maroon 5's Runaway and last chapter's were from Bleeding Love by Leona Lewis. Important lyrics are in the bold (they're also the chapter titles) and they're not necessarily in order; we mash them up to get the important stuff in.

_I'm taking time to think,_  
I don't think it's fair for us to,  
Turn around and say goodbye, I have this feeling when I,  
Finally find the words to say,  
But I can't tell you if you turn around,  
And run away, run away.       

**_I'm a nervous wreck._ **

  
  
 

"Honey, don't you think you should slow down with the drinks?" Aaron asked as Kurt tipped the champagne glass backwards and downed the contents in one gulp.

            Kurt grimaced and waved his boyfriend off. "It's just champagne, Aaron. God, though, I wish they had something stronger," he remarked, placing his glass back down on the table and searching over the heads of his coworkers for a waiter.

            Aaron laid his hand on top of Kurt's and frowned. "The effects of alcohol are very dangerous, Kurt, and I don't want-"

            Kurt rolled his eyes for what seemed like the seventh time in the past hour. "It's a party for fuck's sake, Aaron, I'm allowed to have a few drinks." When Aaron retracted his hand and looked away, blinking rapidly, Kurt sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. It's a work party, babe, you know what these events do to me. Potential clients and corporate heads are here checking out the office and Isabelle gets really stressed and it's just-it's just a bad time for me, I'm sorry."

             Aaron nodded and offered a watery smile, toying with the end of the silvery table cloth between his fingers. The room was a whirl of commotion. Techno music pumped through the overhead speakers as Kurt's coworkers and potential clients chattered at nearby tables. Brand new fashion designs were displayed on the walls or hung from mannequins, people stopping to gawk and pick at the glimmering fabrics.

            Kurt patted Aaron's shoulder before getting up from his esteemed seat at table nine and made his way over to the mini bar Isabelle had insisted on getting. Rachel and Santana, working as part of the Spotlight Diner's new catering program, clinked glasses of their own together as Kurt strode toward them.

            "What's wrong, Hummel? Your boyfriend up your ass again? Literally," Santana wanted to know, brushing her dark hair over her shoulder with a smirk.

            Kurt sighed, climbing up on the bar stool. "He's just...concerned about my drinking," Kurt replied as Rachel got him another glass of champagne.

            "Give Aaron a break, he's just worried," Rachel said. "It's sweet."

            "Worried? More like obsessive. You know who he reminds me of, Hummel? He reminds me of that serial killer from that Stephen King movie...the one where the girl was so ‘worried' about the guy that she broke both of his legs and kept him locked up in her mountain cabin. Be careful, porcelain, I wouldn't go to any deserted cabins with Aaron if I was you," Santana sneered.

            Kurt watched the amber-colored bubbles in his drink fizz and pop like liquid gold as Rachel smacked Santana in the arm with her dish rag. "Don't say that-"

            "Santana's right," Kurt interrupted, his stomach sinking. "I mean, not about the serial killer part, but Aaron has been getting a bit obsessive lately. I don't know, maybe we should take a break."       

            "Kurt, are you sure you're thinking clearly?" Rachel said with a tentative shrug. She pointed in the direction of Aaron, who looked quickly away, a scarlet blush rising to his cheeks. He had smoothed his unruly blond hair back with a dollop of gel before they had left, and was wearing a crisp black suit and baby blue tie that brought out his eyes. "You've been with Aaron for almost two and a half years now."

            "Exactly," Santana interjected. "That's two and a half years too much. You're not really happy, and you haven't been since you were with the hobbit-"

            "Santana!" Rachel exclaimed, eyes widening and glancing frantically towards Kurt. This was a sensitive topic for all of them. Unintentionally, Rachel and Santana had been forced to pick sides after Kurt and Blaine's nasty breakup and in turn, they had lost a friend.

            "It's fine, it's fine," Kurt waved them off. "I can't just ignore Blaine's existence."

            Santana rested her chin on her palm and gazed at Kurt with heavy mascara'd eyes. "To be honest, Hummel, I think breaking up with the bowtie bitch was your greatest mistake."

            Kurt raised his glass to his lips, cringing at the dull burn in his throat. Santana was right, as much as it pained him to acknowledge the fact that he had mercilessly abandoned with one true love in shithole Lima, Ohio with an abusive father. He wondered if Blaine had stayed in Ohio and finished out his senior year or if he ran away and finally found help. Maybe he had followed through on their future plans of coming to New York. Maybe he was-Kurt shook his head, mentally chiding himself. He was in a committed relationship, for now at least. Was it cheating if you thought about your old boyfriend? Was it cheating if you... _missed_ him?

            "Earth to Hummel," Santana was saying, snapping her long, red fingernails in front of his face to catch his attention. "So what're you going to do about that sap _?_ "

            Before Kurt could respond, the crackling of the microphone screeched over the speakers and the flashing lights were directed towards the stage. Isabelle, dressed in her long, navy dress tapped the microphone uncertainly.

            "Hello? Is this working? Ah, there we go. Good evening, everyone, I'm your Vogue.com host, Isabelle Wright. It is so lovely to see such a positive turn out for our twenty-first annual kick-off party! I hope you're all enjoying yourselves and the  _free_  champagne distributed by our lovely Spotlight Diner caterers."

            Kurt chuckled at Isabelle's dramatic gesture over to the mini-bar and hid his smirk behind the slender glass. Isabelle winked at him and he gave her a thumbs-up.

            "I have a special announcement to make," Isabelle continued, "unfortunately not concerning our brand new winter fashion line. I'm sure many of you are familiar with our spectacular employee, Kurt Hummel."

            Kurt's head snapped up at this, blushing furiously when everyone turned to look at him. Rachel squeezed his shoulder encouragingly. "Promotion?" she mouthed at him

            Cheeks burning, Kurt licked his lips nervously. He crossed his fingers underneath the bar, his every nerve yearning for Isabelle to continue. If he got the promotion, he would get paid significantly more and that meant, hopefully, no more late nights at the diner.

            "Kurt, would you come up here, please? Everybody make way for our honorary guest of the evening."

            A smile danced on his lips as he made his way through the crowd, receiving enthusiastic pats on his back and anticipated glances. This was it. This was really happening. Kurt could barely contain his excitement as he climbed up the steps and stood beside his boss.

            Isabelle wrapped her arm around his waist, grinning broadly as she once again raised the microphone to her lips. "Ladies and gentlemen, Kurt Hummel." As the crowd applauded and Kurt ducked his head in embarrassment, Isabelle dug between her breasts and produced a piece of paper. She uncrumpled it and began to read aloud.

            "My dearest love, I write this as I watch you sleep, my hand trembling with each word that I create on the paper-" wait, what?, "-It is not from nerves, but rather from the visions of our future together flitting through my mind." Kurt's eyes widened. This was certainly not a promotion, in fact, it wasn't even something Isabelle would write at all. Who even used cliché dialect like ‘dearest love' and ‘flitting'? And then, with the painful seizing of his heart, it dawned on him. Aaron. Instantly, his eyes locked with his boyfriend's. He was swaying back and forth, gnawing anxiously on his lips as he watched Isabelle continue.

            "I have loved you since the moment I met you, that one night so long ago in the Brewed Awakenings café on thirty-fourth street. You are the most beautiful, the most considerate, the most talented man I have ever met." At this point, Isabelle lowered the paper and Kurt saw tears glimmering in her cocoa brown eyes. Kurt swallowed hard, wanting nothing more than to dive in a deep, dark hole and never come out. Or rather, Kurt wanted to push  _Aaron_  into a deep, dark hole. How could he do this to him?! Now? In front of all these people?

            "Every time I look into your gorgeous blue-green eyes, all I can think about is all the times we have had together and all the times we will have together. Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, I have said it a million times before and I will continue to say it even after we have both left this earth; I love you." Aaron had in fact said that he loved Kurt every minute of every day that they spent together, so much that it had lost meaning. Rachel and Santana were staring at him, mortified, from the bar. Hadn't it just been two minutes ago that he said he was debating breaking up with Aaron and now this?

            "Isn't it always said that opposites attract? That negatives and positives go together like peas in a pod? Well, Kurt, you are my positive force; my opposite; my one true love." Isabelle paused, her voice choking up as she wiped a tear away and the crowd released a round of "aw"s. Anger swelled up inside Kurt like a massive wave breaking over a rocky shore. Why was this happening to him? He knew Aaron was timid, but was he really so much of a pussy that he couldn't even recite his proposal speech himself?

            "I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to stand at the altar with you beside me and slide a ring on to your finger, sealing our love in a simple gold band for all of eternity. I want to see you excel in your career, I want to see you playing with our children, I want to spend our last moments together in our rocking chairs in sunny old Iowa or wherever we may be, staring endlessly into each other's eyes." This couldn't be happening. Kurt couldn't breathe, the world around him spinning as his legs shook beneath him. There were just so many eyes on him, watching, waiting, evaluating.

            Isabelle turned until she was facing him, her hands shaking as she held the paper up. "I'm certain you know what I am next going to say, or rather, write, and I am certain I know what you are going to say. So Kurt Hummel, my boyfriend, my love-" no, no, no. This wasn't right, it couldn't be. "-will you-" He couldn't say no, there were so many people who would hate him. But god damn it, he wasn't about to spend the rest of his life with a man who was too cowardly to even fucking propose. "-marry-" His entire world crashed down around him, drowning him in thoughts of their future together, but they weren't good images like Aaron apparently had. Didn't they talk about this? Didn't Kurt say he didn't want to get married until he had conquered the peak of his career? This was not a relationship, this was not communication, this was not  _right._  "-me?"

            It was done. The words had left Isabelle's mouth and Aaron's paper, out in the room for everyone to gasp at. Everything was down the drain. "Yes." He barely even registered the word leaving his lips as the room erupted in cheers. Isabelle embraced him, but he could only feel beads of sweat racing down his temple.

            "I-I-" he tried to say, tried to take back his agreement, but it was too late. There were so many people around him, so many strangers just wanting to congratulate him on selling his life away to a pussy. He had to get out of there, had to get some air, something; anything.

            Kurt hurried off the stage, his feet flying over the carpet, and pushed through the crowd. People clapped him on the back and grabbed at his arms, but he wriggled out of their grasps and dashed through the elevator doors.

            "Kurt!" he heard Rachel cry. "Kurt, wait!" Her face appeared between the sliding metal doors, flushed and concerned. She opened her mouth to speak, but the doors shut with a  _clang._

 

Kurt slid down the wall as cheesy elevator music chimed over unseen speakers, placing his head between his knees and sucking in deep breaths. It was all over. 


	3. Future's Finished, There It Went

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably my favourite chapter as of late and it's super long so hopefully you will enjoy it! This chapter's lyrics and chapter title are from Bad Girlfriend by Theory of a Deadman.

_Pull the trigger,_

**_Future's finished, there it went,_ **

_Savings gone and money spent._

_I look around and all I see,_

_Is no good, bad and ugly._

_"K-Kurt? Hi, Kurt, it's Aaron. But you already know that because you have caller ID...Anyways, where are you? I've called a hundred times and you're not picking up and I really don't know what to think...Please answer, Kurt, I love you. I want to celebrate our engagement right. You're not mad, are you? God, please don't be mad, just...Just please come home. I'll be here waiting, okay? I-I'm going to hang up now."_

Kurt lowered his phone with a sigh. There were eleven text messages, sixteen voicemails and twenty-three missed calls, all from Aaron Morgen. His boyfriend. His  _fiancé._ Even thinking the word put a foul taste in his mouth and Kurt lowered the phone, placing it face down on the sticky surface of the bar.

            It was all just so stupid. Kurt wasn't sure if he was angrier with himself for saying yes and then running out like that or Aaron for conducting the whole damn thing in the first place. After hailing a taxi and telling the driver to take him the only place he knew Aaron wouldn't look-Babylon, New York City's supreme gay bar-Kurt had run into two of his peers from NYADA's European fashion class, who had then bought him a round of drinks and uttered half-drunken words of sympathy.

            Kurt was on his fourth daiquiri now and the lyric-less techno music blasting from the DJ's speakers, shaking the dance floor like an unseen heartbeat was starting to sound like frenzied goat in his ears.  The dark room of the club pulsated with thick, swirling fog and stuttering strobe lights that illuminated various couples grinding on the dance floor. Strippers performed routines on the center stage in the middle of the room, twirling around on their poles in their exotic costumes.

            "Hey, stop worrying," Chris said, one of Kurt's classmates. He was tall, nearly as tall as Aaron, with rust-colored hair and a splash of freckles across his nose. "You came to Babylon to get away from that boyfriend of yours, didn't you? Just relax."

            Kurt nodded reluctantly, but all he could focus on was the impending weight of the engagement ring he had hurriedly shoved on his finger without so much as glancing at it. "I know. It's just that I wasn't expecting it at all, you know? We've talked about getting married, but I've told him several times that I'm not ready. Relationships are about communication. He should've fucking told me," Kurt said, his voice rising in pitch with every word.

            "Just because you're engaged doesn't mean you have to get married now," Chris assured him.

            Kurt shook his head, his shoulders rising and falling wearily. "I was going to break up with him tonight," he murmured. Suddenly, he wanted to cry and scream and throw up at the same time. His relationship with Aaron felt like a tight noose around his neck, cutting of his access to oxygen with every sent text and delivered call.

            "God, you're so tense," Darren slurred. His hair was streaked with teal and hot pink and there was thick rim of gold eyeliner underneath his cocoa-colored eyes. He tipped one of the lime tequila shot glasses back without flinching and sat back, grinning triumphantly. "You know what you need, Mr. Kurt Hummel. You need...a dance party! You have to forget all about that Aaron asshole. Come on!" Darren hopped off the bar stool excitedly, motioning in earnest toward the dance floor.

            Kurt looked to Chris, who simply shrugged and said, "It can't hurt to let go every once and a while."

            Kurt looked down at the remaining shot glass. It had been years since Kurt had actually been to a gay club. Aaron had preferred to stay home and play scrabble by the fire or cuddle while watching  _Project Runway_ on their date nights and Kurt had conceded without protest.  _But Aaron's_ not _here,_  Kurt thought bitterly, his gaze flickering from the glass to Darren and Chris who both displayed patient smiles.

            He took a deep breath. "This is for you, Aaron," he whispered before tipping it back and downing the amber liquid in a single swallow.

            Darren let out an enthusiastic whoop and snatched Kurt's wrist tugging him along behind him. Kurt barely had a second to wonder if he had made the wrong decision, if he should just turn around and go back to his safe, worrisome boyfriend, before he was submerged in the throbbing, sweaty crowd. Everything smelled like hot bodies on bodies, like filthy sex and open-mouthed kisses and public blowjobs.

            Kurt wrinkled his nose in disgust as Darren made a beeline for a designated spot directly in the middle of the dance floor. Darren paused, glanced around and then began to dance, swiveling his hips and shimmying his shoulders with hooded eyes.

            Chris appeared behind him, his hand intertwined with a tall, lanky man with broad shoulders and a slender waist tucked into a flattering royal purple button-down. He had shaggy, dark hair and matching eyes that regarded Kurt like he was a piece of meat.

            "Kurt, this is Jack," Chris yelled as Katy Perry's  _Peacock_ began thundering throughout the room.

            "Mmm, Kurt," Jack purred, releasing Chris' hand and prowling around Kurt like a cocky lion. "What a pretty boy. C'mon, dance with me."

            Before he could protest, Jack put his hands on Kurt's waist and began swaying them in time to the music. Awkwardly, Kurt looped his arms around Jack's neck and blushed. Jack cocked an eyebrow, licking his perfectly shaped lips. "This place isn't really your forte, is it?" he asked.

            Kurt shook his head. "No. I mean-I don't know. I was-am-in a relationship with a guy who really hated clubs."

            "Ah." Jack nodded knowingly, his tall frame projecting a shadow over Kurt. "So you're  _that_ kind of guy."

            "What's that supposed to mean?"

            "It means that you let your boyfriend decide everything. If he doesn't want to go to a club, then you stay home like a good little housewife. What a pitiful relationship."

            Kurt's jaw tightened angrily and he stepped away from the man. "I don't even know you," he snapped. "What right do you have to make judgments about my life?"

            "Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it." Once more, he stepped closer until their hips were almost touching and their chests brushed. "You need to let go. Let go of whatever's holding you back and just have a good time. You're allowed to do that, you know. Your boyfriend isn't here right now to breathe down your neck. Just...Close your eyes and listen."

            Kurt could smell beer on Jack's breath, his glistening lips so close he could nearly taste them. He swallowed hard, tasting the sour tequila in the back of his throat, and allowed his eyes to slide closed. The buzz of the alcohol began to fall across his senses as his entire body began to tingle electrically.  _Let go,_ Jack had said.  _Just let go._ Something inside of Kurt snapped like a barrier being broken down as he let the rhythm of the music in for the first time in years. This was who he was now; someone who he'd always been, suppressed by Lima and Aaron. He was a free spirit, drifting like a petal on the currents of the wind, watching and waiting and just experiencing the city of dreams.

            His eyes flew open to take in Jack's chiseled, smirking face. Kurt's hips began to move to a beat of their own accord, his arms reaching up once again and cupping Jack's face. He was Kurt Hummel, damn it, and he was going to let go. He tilted his head forward and their lips met. Jack tasted like beer and sweat and just  _man,_ so unlike the tender delicacy of Aaron's lips.

            Jack laughed as they pulled back, pressing their hips together until Kurt could feel the pressure of his dick straining through his tight jeans. "Now  _that's_ letting go."

            Gradually, as the drunken effects of the alcohol continued to catch up to Kurt, the entire world became a massive blur of lips on lips and firm hands groping his ass and a pounding beat in his ears and sweat beading down his brow and fingers carding through his hair and bright, flashing lights and too-loud music and someone was sucking at his neck- _god, that felt good-_ and Jack was pushing his dress shirt up his torso and flicking at the shell of his ear and-no. No, this was  _wrong._

            Kurt pulled away suddenly, his chest heaving with every intake of the muggy air that surrounded him like a wool blanket. He turned around without uttering an explanation to the astounded Jack and pushed through the crowd. No, no, this wasn't him. He wasn't someone who  _cheated_  on his boyfriend, despite how mad he's been.  _Shit, shit, shit._

Kurt found his phone at the bar and flipped open the screen, the harsh light burning his eyes as he found Rachel's number and dialed it frantically. There were two rings-three- _just fucking pick up, Rachel_ -five-

            "Hello? Kurt? Where the hell are you?"

            "Rachel." Kurt exhaled in relief. "I'm at Babylon. Can you please come pick me up? I did something awful, really awful and...fuck."

            He could hear the rustle of sheets from the other side of the phone. "What are you doing at Babylon? After you just ran out, Santana and I looked everywhere for you. God, Kurt, we were so worried. Aaron's a wreck."

            Kurt's features twisted into a scowl. "I know and I'm sorry. Please come pick me up."

            "It's two twenty in the morning, Kurt! I'll come and get you, but you're paying the hospital bills if I get raped by some-some sex-hungry homeless man, okay? Just stay where you are and I'll be there in a couple of minutes."

            Kurt shoved his phone in his pocket and placed his head in his hands, groaning. Perhaps he had let go too much. How was he even going to explain all of this to Aaron? Did he even want to talk to Aaron at all?

            Suddenly, the club erupted in simultaneous laughter. Kurt jolted up, desperately hoping Darren wasn't stripping. What he saw instead was a short, curly-haired man up on stage. His lips were positively glued to one of the stripper's, his hands dancing over the black leather of his skimpy attire.

            The shorter man stepped back, a coy, drunken smile playing on his lips, and Kurt could see who it was.  _Blaine_. He then abruptly toppled over the edge of the stage and went crashing onto the stone floor of the club.

            Kurt was dashing through the crowd without even remembering getting up from the chair and he knelt down at Blaine's side. He looked exactly the same as he had four years ago, with disheveled dark curls and flawless olive skin and plump, endlessly kissable lips and hazel eyes that sparkled in the light.  _Blaine._

Blaine sat up, blinking furiously like he had something in his eye, and then his gaze fell on Kurt. Kurt had expected him to gasp in recognition or cry out in surprise, but instead, his lips curved into a dopey smile. "Whoa, how hard did I hit my head?"

            "Blaine-" the word still tasted so familiar on his lips, like Juicy Fruit bubble gum, "-you're still conscious."

            "How are you even  _real?_ How have we never met before? Oh, my god, you're so pretty." Blaine reached up to cup Kurt's jaw, his finger grazing over the slope of his cheekbone.

            Kurt pulled away, his heart crumbling inside of his chest.  _He doesn't remember me._  "Jesus, you really hit your head, didn't you?" He looped his arm around the back of his waist and helped Blaine to his feet. He started towards the bar, casting a glance over his shoulder to make sure Blaine was still standing. "Come on, let's go get some ice for that head."

            "Man, you have a  _great ass_ ," Blaine slurred.

            Kurt rolled his eyes, smirking as he easily fell back into the routine of their old banter. "Eyes on your own paper, shorty."

            "Hey! I'm not short, I'm-"

            "Fun-sized?" It was like Kurt's past twenty-four hours had disappeared and all he could focus on was Blaine. It had been so long since they'd seen each other, and yet everything with him felt so natural.

            They arrived at the bar and he helped Blaine up onto the bar stool before beckoning over the bartender and asking him for an ice pack. "How did you know what I was going to say? Are you a mind reader? Shit, I hope you aren't because I've been thinking about doing some positively sinful things to that behind of yours," Blaine said, allowing his eyes to roam shamelessly over Kurt's body.

            Under the faint blue hue of the bar light, Kurt could see how bloodshot his eyes were and how utterly exhausted he looked. His shirt was stained with what looked like beer and his lips were chapped. Kurt's heart ached to wrap him up in a tight hug and just murmur sweet nothings into his ear, but this wasn't senior year in quiet little Ohio; this was two thirty on a Friday night in a gay bar.

            He cleared his throat, pressing the provided ice back to Blaine's forehead where a nasty, plum-colored bruise was beginning to form. "You've said it before."

            "I've always wanted to mess around with a married man," Blaine remarked, his eyes glued to the ring on Kurt's finger.

            Kurt blushed, covering his embarrassment with a tentative smirk. "We will be doing no ‘messing around'," he replied, but every nerve in his body was yearning for Blaine's touch.

            "So," Blaine said, almost conversationally, "what's your name, oh married man? Because why else would you be here at a  _gay bar_  if you were perfectly happy with your husband?" Kurt flinched. "Ooh, fiancé? What, did he propose and you said yes because he had a nice dick and now you're realizing that he doesn't know how to use it?"

            Kurt was taken aback. Surely this couldn't be his old ex-boyfriend from four years ago, the same man who had laid with him in bed and played ‘connect the dots' with his freckles on his back; the same man who had held his hands and told him everything was going to be alright before brushing away his tears with his soft lips; the same man who never, ever cursed or talked about sex in such explicit ways.

            "You know my name, Blaine," Kurt whispered finally, wondering if Blaine had even heard what he had said over the deafening thump of the music.

            Blaine paled suddenly, his face draining of color as his eyes widened. His bottom lip trembled as he lowered the ice pack from his temple, hands shaking slightly. This was it. He had remembered. "Kurt..." His name sounded like acid on Blaine's tongue. "Why are you _here?"_

            Kurt looked away. He would not cry. He would not cry. "I could ask you the same question."

            "Because this is what I  _do._ This is all I have, Kurt." There was something in his voice that chilled the blood in Kurt's veins. He couldn't quite put a name to it; pain? Agony? Regret? Insistence?

            "You don't need to do...this, Blaine," Kurt said. A lump swelled in his throat, but he swallowed it down persistently. Blaine needed him. Oh, god, this was all his fault. "I'm so sorry that you're here, I'm sorry you're-"

            "That I'm what? A fuck-up? Because yes, Kurt, actually, I do need to do this. But you wouldn't know, would you?" Blaine's voice was icy cold but he glare burned straight through Kurt's very existence.

            "I'm so sorry, Blaine, I really am." His voice broke, sounding so weak and vulnerable out in the heated air of the club. He wondered what Blaine would've been like if Kurt hadn't so heartlessly abandoned him in Lima with his abusive father. Surely he wouldn't be here, making out with strippers and so drunk off his ass that he couldn't even remember his old boyfriend. He reached up and dragged his fingers through his hair, wanting nothing more than to rip open his skull and wash all the tantalizing thoughts from his mind.

            "Wait. You're...Kurt, please don't tell me you're married already. You're not thirty yet. You had  _plans._  What happened to graduating from NYADA? What happened to getting on Broadway and playing Angel in  _RENT?_ "

            Kurt laughed, because it was the only way he could keep from bursting into tears. "Plans change, Blaine. People change," he said bitterly.

            Blaine paused, his skin so white it looked like parchment. Kurt thought for a second he was going to start screaming, but then an eerily calm spell spread over Blaine's features and he straightened himself. "I really hope he treats you right. If not, I'll break his fucking legs."

            Kurt inhaled sharply, alarmed at the sudden venom in his tone. Before he could react, Blaine was standing up and flying towards the exit without even glancing behind him. "Blaine!" he yelled desperately. "Blaine! Come back!"

            The emergency exit door closed with a violent  _bang._ Kurt wracked his brain for any explanation for everything that had just happened, some sort of reason for the way Blaine had looked and acted, but his mind was a blank slate.

            "It's all my fault," he said softly, his bottom lip quivering as the realization dawned on him. "Fuck, it's all my fault."


	4. On Sleepless Roads The Sleepless Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song from this chapter is Hear You Me from Jimmy Eat World.

_So what would you think of me now?_

_So lucky, so strong, so proud._

_Hear you me, my friends,_

_**On sleepless roads the sleepless go.** _

_Fireworks streaked across the dark night sky like glittering rainbow ribbons, bursting in a deafening explosion that showered the observers in flaming tears. Below, the murky Ohio Lake drank up the burning flakes that landed on the glassy surface and reflected the bright scene above. Motorboats rocked gently atop the waves while couples cheered and friends raised their drinks in salute to the fireworks._

_Blaine tucked his head into Kurt's neck, shivering slightly in the brisk wind that ruffled through their damp swim shorts. On the back deck, Mike manned the wheel while Tina sat on his lap and snapped pictures of the fireworks with her phone. Finn and Rachel weren't even paying attention to the fantastic display and instead chose to make out on top of a life vest stack._

_"It's so beautiful," Kurt remarked._

_"It's so_ loud," _Blaine grumbled._

_Smirking, Kurt shifted to wrap his arm around Blaine's shuddering shoulders. Mike's family speedboat swayed almost rhythmically, the faux rubber seat pad beneath them squeaking with every fall and rise of the waves. "It's the Fourth of July, B. America's birthday. If you ask me, the USA has the most badass birthday parties ever."_

_Kurt could feel Blaine's lips curve up into a smile against his shoulder. "I hope you know I now expect fireworks at my birthday party," Blaine said._

_"Oh, is that right?"_

_Blaine sat up, sweeping his curls back. Droplets of lake water glistened on his face, flashing red, blue, gold. "Oh, yeah. Also elephants, a carousel, and seventeen tiny chipmunks all in bowties."_

_Kurt snorted. "What, no Jersey Shore strippers who know the entire ‘Sistas' routine from_ White Christmas _?"_

_"Nope. All I need is you."_

_"You're a dork," Kurt replied, bumping his shoulder playfully against his boyfriend's. The American flag exploded across the sky, and people on nearby boats released enthusiastic shrieks._

_"Although it would be nice if you could dress up in one of those tiny mankinis with little bowties-"_

_Kurt's jaw dropped in mock astonishment. He flipped Blaine over, pinning his arms against the rubber seat and straddling his waist. Blaine licked his lips, the apples of his cheeks flushed a dark scarlet as he stared up in awe at Kurt. "There is no way-" Kurt panted, "-I will ever-" His chestnut hair flopped down over his forehead, "-wear a_  mankini _-" Blaine was full on laughing now, "-with little bowties."_

_His chest heaving with laughter, Blaine reached up and cupped Kurt's face with freezing fingers. "Don't be so sure about that." With that, Blaine wrapped his legs around Kurt's waist and flipped them over the side of the boat, crashing into the frigid water with a splash!_

_Kurt broke through the surface, gasping for air and flailing in the direction of the boat. He grasped for the side, slipping and fell once again into the lake. "You're a dick!" he exclaimed furiously._

_"I guess that's a good thing," Blaine replied smarmily._

_Kurt screeched in mock anger and paddled towards his boyfriend, tackling him and sending up a spray of water. "I cannot believe you just pushed me into a disgusting, polluted Ohio lake, you absolute jerk! Can you imagine what this is going to do to my hair? I wouldn't be surprised if it started glowing-"_

_Blaine cupped his face, grinning in that way that made Kurt fall a little bit more in love with him each time he did it. His eyes were so green. Green in a way that was different from the lake water or the green of the trimmed pine trees that bordered the area or the electric green of his swim shorts; it was the kind of green that you climb hundred of frosted mountains just to see or the green of a brand new piece of mint gum or the green that appears after the snow of a long and hard winter melts._

_Kurt's gaze travelled down to his lips, light pink and dotted with crystalloid water droplets. "You're lucky I love you," he murmured as the tips of their noses bumped together._

_The corners of his lips twitched up into a smile. "I really am."_

_Around them, smoking shreds from the latest firework burned blazing trails like the outstretched branches of a weeping willow, encasing the couple in their own little private world. "Happy Fourth of July."_

 

            Kurt was going to puke. He shifted in his bed, rolling over onto his side and squeezing his eyes shut in a desperate effort to block out the glaring light flooding through his blinds. His head was pounding agonizingly, his jeans scratching roughly against his thighs atop his blue satin comforter. Apparently he had neglected to change clothes last night before flopping face down on his bed and sobbing himself to sleep.

            "You're awake."

            Kurt jolted upright, his stomach protesting as bile rose up in the back of his throat. Aaron was holding out a glass of ice water and two Advil. He wore a crumpled t-shirt and sweat pants, his blond hair sticking up in the back and dark circles hanging underneath his unsympathetic eyes. "Aaron."

            He watched as Kurt downed the Advil and water in one gulp and then looked down to his clasped hands. "You didn't get home until three last night," he said softly.

            Kurt gnawed the inside of his cheek. He knew this would come. "Look, I'm sorry. I just needed some space." Aaron sat down on the edge of his bed, dragging his fingers through his hair. "I wasn't expecting that, Aaron, I wasn't ready."

            Aaron swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he staring determinedly at the far wall. "Did you mean to say yes?" he asked hurriedly as if he wanted nothing more than to get the words off his tongue.

            Kurt sighed.  _No,_  he wanted to say.  _No, I didn't. I don't want to marry you._ "Of course I did," he replied finally. He reached forward and took Aaron's trembling hands. "I was just...surprised, that's all."

            Aaron's baby blue eyes were glistening with tears. He offered a watery smile and tightened his grasp on Kurt. "I love you."

            As the tears spilled down over the slope of Aaron's cheeks, Kurt was thrown back into a flitting memory from the night before. Too-loud music screaming in his ears, the lingering taste of tequila on his tongue, sweating trickling down his temple and sliding down his spine, and green. Green eyes so bright and lively like they had been that Fourth of July so long ago. And then...And then all the life had been sucked right out the moment he had seen that damned ring on Kurt's finger and his hands had begun to shake and he wouldn't look at Kurt and then he was gone as quickly as he had appeared.

            Kurt's fingernails bit into his palm as he plastered a smile on his face.  _All my fault._ "I have to get ready for school. I have-I have class today."

            Aaron kissed his cheek and helped him to his feet. "I'm really glad we could talk this out, Kurt. Oprah says no relationship is truly a relationship if they don't endure a bumpy road every once and a while." Kurt was definitely going to puke.

            He squeezed his fiancé's hands and ducked into the bathroom for a quick shower. Scalding water tricked down over his muscles and soaked his hair, soothing his aching limbs. After dressing, Kurt stood in front of the mirror to examine his reflection. The blotchy purple sphere of a hickey had begun to form on his collar bone and his skin was tinged green. He looked like pure shit. But Blaine had looked worse.

            How could he have been so heartless? How could he have let the love of his life become such a monster? He had to fix this. He _had_  too. It was up to him now.

 

            "So what happened last night? I tried to ask you in the car but you were too upset to answer." The subway car lurched, throwing Kurt against the rusted metal pole and tossing Rachel into the filthy window.

            Kurt looked down at his shoes, the toes dusted with light snow. "I saw him."

            Rachel cocked an eyebrow, exasperated. "Well, Jesus, Kurt, could you be more vague? Who did you see? And why were you at Babylon? I thought that was the place guys went to cheat on their boyfriends."

            Kurt frowned. "That's not why I went there, Rach."

            "I guess that's also why you're wearing a turtle neck?"

            He rolled his eyes and pushed at her shoulder playfully. "I got a little drunk, okay? But that's not the point. I saw  _him,_ Rachel. I saw Blaine."

            Rachel paled. For a moment, she just stared at him, wide-eyed, and then she looked down to adjust her apple red cardigan. "Oh, my god."

            "He looked so bad." Kurt's voice cracked. "He was cursing and so drunk he didn't even recognize me." She didn't reply. "I have to see him again. I have to fix him."

            "I don't think that's a good idea," Rachel whispered above the high-pitched screeching of un-oiled train wheels on frozen track.

            "I  _loved_  him and if I have any hopes of moving on with Aaron, I have to let go of Blaine," Kurt said. He sounded a lot stronger than he felt, his heart shattering inside his chest like a frail snow globe. "It's my fault that he's like this. If I hadn't left..."

            "You had to break up with him, Kurt. People get over lost love, it's a part of life. You can't blame yourself for something that was necessary to your survival." Of course. Rachel didn't know about the abuse. No one had, except for Kurt; and Kurt had left him all alone. He nodded solemnly, fighting off tears that threatened to overflow.

            "Excuse me, are you talking about Blaine Anderson?" Kurt whirled around to face a short man with purple-streaked hair and a sparkling orange boa. "Sorry, I couldn't help but overhear."

            Kurt cleared his throat. "Um, yes. Yes, we were."

            The man chuckled, maintaining his balance effortlessly as the subway cart lurched once again. "He's a good bang."

            Rachel inhaled sharply. "I'm sorry, you are...?"

            "Lorenzo. I see Blaine around a lot; block parties and bathhouses and what not. Cute kid," he responded, inspecting his gaudy black nails.

            Kurt's mouth tasted like burnt rubber. "Do you know where I might find him?"

            "Why, looking for a free blowjob? Or some heroin? He might be at that piano bar on thirty-first street, though I heard he got fired. Or maybe Babylon?"

            "I-I saw him there recently. I was hoping to get in touch with him again. Do you have an address?"

            Lorenzo burst out laughing. "An address? That little kid is always moving, sleeping around or huddled up in some crack house. But you could check NYU. He's got some...special connections there."

            He wasn't quite sure how to answer, so he nodded politely and turned back to Rachel, who had gone so pale she looked like the new fallen November snow that littered the streets. "Is he talking about the same person? Blaine?  _Our_ Blaine?  _Crack houses?"_

Kurt was nauseous. "I have to go to New York University. I  _have_ to find him. If I don't, I'll-I'll-"

            Rachel rested her hand on his shoulder. "Just try not to break your own heart too hard."

 

            The university was alive with the bustle of students, clutching books to their chests and chattering eagerly to one another. Above, the sky danced with vibrant snow flurries emanating from a stony grey sky. Kurt had left NYADA after his first class, his stomach knotting too tight to ignore and caught the next train to New York University. After conversing with the secretary at the information desk and convincing the meek redhead that he was a concerned brother, he retracted Blaine's class schedule. According to the half-damp paper clutched in his hand, Blaine had gotten released from his last class approximately twenty-one n minutes ago. If Kurt could catch him in time, maybe he could beg Blaine to join him for a cup of coffee or go for a walk in Central Park.

            Kurt raced around a nearby corner, skidding on ice and slamming his shoulder against a brick wall. His entire body felt numb from the cold, his fingers swollen red and the tip of his nose glowing a bright maroon, but he didn't care. All that mattered was finding Blaine.

            Room 221. This was it. Throwing open the classroom door, Kurt darted into the room, immediately embraced by a thick cloud of warmth. The room smelled like sweat and hormones, reminding Kurt of the hallways of McKinley High. Posters of various grammatical theories and famous novels were tacked up on the flesh-colored walls. There was not a soul in sight, causing Kurt's chest to contract painfully. Fuck. He'd missed him again.

             _The subway._ Kurt's boots squeaked on the pavement as he dodged pedestrians and angry New Yorkers who gave him the middle finger. The brisk air slapped Kurt in the face like the cool slushies he had endured so many times, but he pushed through and tumbled his way down the stairs into the musky railway.

            He searched desperately over the heads of people purchasing tickets and those boarding the train and even peered through the misted window panes for that one familiar face. His heart sank in defeat as he realized there was no way in hell he would be able to find Blaine today. Tomorrow, he would try again tomorrow. It was Monday; surely he could catch Blaine on one of the other four days of the week.

            He turned, shoulders hunched and feet dragging on the sidewalk. Standing out amidst the dozens of other heads was a proud mop of dark curls. Kurt straightened up, pushing through the crowd to get a better view. Blaine was striding purposefully towards the train, his head ducked and his curls dusted with powdery snow.

            "Blaine! Blaine!" he called out, throat sore from the impending cold. Blaine didn't seem to hear him, boarding the train and finding a seat, staring down at his hands distractedly.

            Kurt shoved his way to the ticket voucher, who frowned at him and held out a hand for the ticket he didn't have. "Please let me through, I have to get on that train!" he cried in earnest, but the elderly man only shook his head.

            "No ticket, no train, buster," he replied icily.

            The subway train's whistle screamed through the air as the wheels began to turn. He'd lost him again. Kurt watched the vehicle until the last car had disappeared into the endless black tunnel, his lungs contracting with every breath. He'd been so close.

            And yet so far.


	5. A Lover On The Left

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We really appreciate all of you taking the time to read our fics. If you haven't read Blaine's POV (Stained Glass), you may not be able to fully understand the significance of some characters introduced this chapter (IE Mr. Ellis and Maeve), so you may want to read that first because it's the best. The song used in this chapter was Casual Affair by Panic! At the Disco. We update every Sunday! Please enjoy.

_Break involuntary ties,_  
A secret so the spies  
Could never find us out.

 _Stay for as long as you have time,_  
So the mess that we'll become,  
Leaves something to talk about.

**_A lover on the left._ **

Emilia and Oscar Morgen couldn't look more like their son if they tried. Emilia was a slender woman with frail, composed features and a waterfall of honey-golden hair that cascaded over her shoulders. She wore a dark navy dress that brought out the sapphire of her baby blue eyes and thick silver bracelets that jingled when she raised the champagne glass to her bright red lips. Oscar had the same chiseled jaw line that Aaron inherited, with a tuft of graying blond hair atop his head and cool eyes like hard glass.

            Kurt had only met with them twice before. The first was two months after they'd starting dating, when Emilia and Oscar had flown out to meet Kurt and attend Aaron's sophomore graduation from the New York School of Law. The second was last Christmas, when Emilia had positively insisted they fly to Aaron's quaint childhood home in Iowa. Both of them were kind, accepting lawyers who welcomed Kurt into their family without a moment's hesitation.

            After Aaron had eagerly called them and told them about the engagement, they had immediately dropped whatever prestigious case they had been working on and taken a private jet out to congratulate them. Arriving only an hour ago, the Morgens had wasted no time in tracking down the most expensive restaurant in New York City and dragging along their son and Kurt for some celebratory wine and salmon.

            "I was just so pleased to hear about the engagement," Emilia said fondly for what seemed like the tenth time. "There's so much to prepare for the wedding. When do you think you'd like to have it? I think June would be a magnificent time; everyone will be off of work and on summer break, but it's early enough for them not to be on vacation. And summer weddings are just  _so_  glamorous."

            Aaron squeezed Kurt's hand under the table and Kurt plastered an enthusiastic smile on his face. The feeling of nausea that had settled in his stomach the moment he put on the ring had remained throughout the past couple of days and talk of the wedding only increased the feeling. He didn't want to be here, the weight of the engagement ring strangling his finger while his fiancé sat oblivious to his emotions and his future mother-in-law planned out their wedding.

            "I think June would be the perfect time, mother," Aaron continued, flashing Kurt a confident grin. "That would give us a good amount of time to plans since there is a lot to do."

            Emilia's bleach white teeth sparkled under the harsh light of the restaurant as she beamed broadly. "Oh, darling, don't worry. Your father and I know the most  _amazing_  wedding planner, don't we, dear?"

            Oscar, clearly preoccupied by some fascinating text message on his phone, grunted in acknowledgement. Kurt liked Mr. Morgen. He seemed almost less excited about the wedding than Kurt.

            "I'll give her your number. She really is fabulous." Emilia glanced toward Kurt. "How are you, honey? You haven't spoken a word all night. Something wrong with the salmon?"

            Kurt cleared his throat and sat up straighter. "Oh, no, it's great, thanks. I'm just a bit worn out from work." He loved acting. He was attending the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts for fuck sake. He could at least act like he was enjoying the dinner for a few hours before going home and collapsing in a pile of blankets to cry himself to sleep for the fifth time in a row.

            "And how is work going for you? Aaron told us that's where he proposed!" Emilia clasped her hands together excitedly.

            Kurt swallowed with difficulty, staring down at the untouched fish on his plate. "The business is blooming for sure," he said conversationally, gaze still fixated downward. He couldn't have felt more uncomfortable if he tried. "We just released a new line of winter clothing."

            "That's marvelous." Emilia tipped her wine glass back and swallowed the contents elegantly. "Speaking of clothing, what do you think you'll do for the tuxedos? I understand black is the classic color but two black tuxedos is a bit tacky, don't you think, Aaron dear?"

Kurt tuned out of the conversation as Aaron began to answer. Brigadette's was an expensive restaurant off Forty-Fourth Street. They had fine bottles of aged wine on every wall, flashing glimmering amber, sparkling gold and vibrant red in the ever-changing blink of the lights. The bar was crowded with tall women in cocktail dresses and suited men with arms around their waists. Waiters bustled throughout the large dining room supporting trays of steaming platters priced entirely too expensively. Shimmering decorative spheres hung down from the ceiling, swaying every time the glass entrance doors were opened and new guests swooped in to beg for a reservation.

It was drastically different from the Spotlight Diner and Kurt found himself longing for the too-loud Broadway music and the twirling dancers and array of fried foods. He  _missed_ the crappy Spotlight Diner and he  _missed_  being in a loose relationship with a man who he never intended to marry and he  _missed_ feeling free.

            Kurt caught sight of a man sitting at the table across from them. He was grasping the hand of a gorgeous redhead and talking with a sparkle of affection in his bright green eyes. A mop of dark curls rested atop his head. They were almost the right shade, almost the right eye color, almost the same height, Kurt thought as he chewed the inside of his lip. He could've been Blaine if his hair had been just a tinge darker, like the endless depths of the ocean; if his eyes had been dotted with gold flakes; if he had been the perfect height to slide underneath Kurt's chin like a missing puzzle piece.

"Kurt?" Aaron was asking. Kurt jerked back to his fiancé, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"I'm just going to run to the bathroom," he murmured before pushing back his chair and fleeing from the table. He burst through the men's bathroom doors and stumbled into the sink, clutching the polished white marble with trembling hands.

Tentatively, Kurt looked up at his reflection. He didn't look anything like himself. Rings of exhaustion circled his tear-filled eyes, there were unattractive wrinkles above his brow, his chestnut hair was disheveled and there was a zit-a  _zit_ -on his chin. Kurt bowed his head, inhaling deeply. What the fuck had happened to him? He'd dealt with the death of his mother, merciless high school bullies, ruthless college applications, overbearing roommates, and countless rejections but he couldn't deal with one simple engagement? No. That was not Kurt Elizabeth Hummel. He always stood back up, no matter what the conflict, and this situation was no different.

He would marry Aaron because it was the right thing to do, because they were perfect for each other, everyone said so, and he would do so willingly because  _that's_ Kurt Elizabeth Hummel. All he needed to do was...let go of Blaine. Yes, that was it. If he could just fix this whole damn situation, make Blaine see what he was doing and go to rehab, then he would feel the way he was supposed to about this wedding.

Kurt glanced back up and displayed a confident smile at his reflection. "Kurt Morgen," he said loudly. "Kurt Morgen, Kurt Morgen, Kurt Morgen." It sounded less and less bad the more he said it. "Kurt Morgen."

 

            He was going to catch him this time. Kurt leaned against the doorframe of Mr. Ellis's English class exactly nine minutes before it was supposed to start. Students flooded into the classroom, tossing Kurt curious glances as he gave each one the once-over. As soon as the mob of students began to dissipate, he tapped out a quick text to Aaron on his phone, assuring him that he would be home in time for dinner, and resumed his scouting spot, scanning the snow-dusted New York University English hall.

            "Hey, Captain Gay." Kurt started at the sound of the snarky voice and whirled around. The speaker was a tall, pretty girl with light brown hair dip-dyed an electric blue and glasz eyes framed in thick mascara. She wore a black halter top and fishnet tights beneath leather shorts that brought out her voluptuous ass. "Who're you?"

            Kurt cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I'm Kurt Hummel."

            She clicked her long fingernails against the wood of the door, her eyes raking over him like he was a dead mouse her cat had left on her front porch. "And you're here because...?"

            "Excuse me, I don't think that's any of your business," Kurt replied, glaring distastefully as the girl.

            She shrugged. "Well, dollface, you're at my classroom door mulling about aimlessly so I'd say that's some of my business. Don't you have some grand Broadway show to plan?"

            Taken aback, Kurt sputtered. "I-I-" She cocked a pierced eyebrow, a grin playing slyly on her lips. He sighed. "I'm waiting for someone."

            She pursed her lips almost disapprovingly. "Mop-Head isn't coming. You're wasting your time. Everyone else is here. I don't know what you want with Anderson unless it's a quickie, but he's not coming, twinkle toes."

            Kurt nearly choked, his mouth agape as he positively stared as this mysterious girl who seemed to know everything. "I didn't want-I don't want to have a-a  _quickie-"_ The girl smirked and strutted into the classroom, Kurt hot on her heels. "You can't just _say_ something like that and then walk away-"

            "Maeve?" A wiry man who looked as if he was in his early fifties rose from the chair behind the desk. The salt-and-pepper hair atop his head was balding in some places, revealing his bare scalp. He was dressed in a fern green button-down and grey slacks. There was something about his eyes, something about the age lines etched into his skin that told stories, making Kurt uneasy. "Who's your friend?"

            The girl, Maeve, was making her way to her desk in the back without so much as a glance toward the teacher. "He's not  _my_ friend, Mr. Ellis." She plopped down defiantly in her seat and crossed her arms over her prominent cleavage. "He's  _Blaine's._ "

            At this, Mr. Ellis straightened. He turned toward Kurt icily. "As you can see, Mr. Anderson is not here today. In fact, he's hardly ever here." Why did this not surprise Kurt? His heart twisted painfully. He should've run faster the other day, he should've gotten there earlier. He shouldn't have let Blaine go in the first place. "I suggest you locate your friend elsewhere. I have a class to teach."

            Kurt swallowed, his throat raw and turned on his heel. He could practically feel the students laughing at him as he hastily exited the classroom, the looming door clanging closed behind him. Everyone seemed to know exactly who Blaine was, and not in a good sense either.

 

            There had been a time when Kurt felt comfortable in Aaron's arms. He was always the bigger spoon, mostly because of his lanky form, and Kurt had felt so secure in his familiar tangle of limbs. But now, while the clock on the nightstand flashed 3:21 and their matching engagement rings glimmered in the faint moonlight as Aaron shifted closer, Kurt couldn't think of a worse place to be.

            His head felt like it was going to explode, clouded with endlessly spiraling thoughts of Blaine, Blaine, Blaine. After leaving the university in a turmoil of humility and frustration, Kurt had returned home to Aaron's eager and welcoming arms. His parents had caught a flight earlier that morning, impatient to return to their growing stack of paperwork. Their departure did little to lessen the weight on Kurt's shoulders, but he relished the lack of wedding planning talk.

            He exhaled into the silence of the room, the rise and fall of Aaron's chest beating into his spine. It was too quiet, too dark, too uncomfortable. Ever so gently, Kurt wiggled out of Aaron's firm grasp, lifting his thin arm over his shoulder and sliding out from between his blue satin sheets.

            The wood floor creaked as Kurt made his way over to the dresser and dug through his sock drawer. His fingers fumbled, grazing the bottom of the drawer, until they bumped against the rough spine of the photo book. Kurt padded out of his bedroom and into their cramped living room where he curled up on the couch.

            The tips of his fingers danced over the all-too-familiar cover of the faded leather photo album.  _High School_ the title read in elaborate black and red bubble letters. He flipped through the pages, smiling fondly down at snapshots of him and Mercedes at the mall, Brittany and Santana each kissing one of his cheeks, Rachel and him posing in front of the Statue of Liberty when they went to New York Nationals, Finn biting into a grilled cheese sandwich, and then...Blaine. There were so many pictures of him; laying on his belly and reading a Vogue magazine, frog headphones clamped over his ears and his eyes closed as he napped on their road trip for regionals, Blaine holding out a dripping strawberry ice cream cone. Each picture shattered Kurt a little further. That innocence in Blaine's honey hazel eyes, that love, was gone now.

            Tears poured down Kurt's cheeks as he, fingers trembling, turned the laminated pages. He stopped on a picture of him and Blaine in a Ferris wheel cart, arms wrapped around each other and beaming broadly.

             _The hot May sun beat down on Kurt's neck as their bright orange cart swayed back and forth. He gripped the window ledge with white knuckles as he peered over the edge, positively marveled by the vibrant colors and never-ending motion of the Ohio State Fair._

_Blaine nudged his boyfriend, his lips stained a rosy pink from the cotton and his eyes bright and lively, an almost melted gold in the dazzling sunlight. "We're almost to the top," he said eagerly. "And you know what happens at the top."_

_Kurt found himself smirking at Blaine's jubilancy. "The cart tips and we're tossed into the deepest, darkest pits of hell?"_

_"Jeez, aren't you a ball of sunshine today?" Blaine chuckled. "We have to kiss at the top. Sorry, I don't make the rules."_

_Kurt laughed, shaking his head. The ride lurched again, the rusted gears squeaking as they rose higher into the empty blue sky. "Oh, yeah? And where did you hear that?_ Cosmopolitan _?"_

_"It's in the Handbook of When To Kiss, didn't you read it?" Kurt rolled his eyes, his fingers finding Blaine's and instantly intertwining. Blaine jumped up and down like an excited child in the plastic seat, his face glowing with delight. "We're almost there!"_

_There was a grotesque clicking sound as the cart settled at the top. In that moment, Blaine looked so hopefully, so puppy-like, that Kurt couldn't resist leaning forward and kissing him. Blaine's arms instantly went to his waist, pulling him closer. "I can't believe you just made me do that-and with such a shitty excuse, too," Kurt hissed as they pulled apart._

_"You loved it."_

_Kurt sighed. "Your lips taste like cotton candy."_

_Blaine waggled his eyebrows mischievously. "That's not the only thing that tastes sweet."_

_Kurt snorted. "Picture time," he announced, letting go of his boyfriend's hand to search around in his leather messenger bag for the camera Carole had gotten him for his birthday. He settled back, extending his arm and turning the camera so the lens faced the couple. "Pretend like you actually love me."_

_"I don't have to pretend," Blaine murmured as they froze for the blinding flash of the camera._

            To this day, Kurt still couldn't believe he had let Blaine kiss him at the top of that Ferris wheel, despite the way his stomach had fluttered for hours afterward. He'd been such a romantic, always fishing for excuses to make Kurt kiss him. It'd become a sort of challenge between them; seeing how ridiculous Blaine could get before Kurt gave in.

            The next page displayed a photograph that had been taken only two days before their nasty breakup. Kurt inhaled sharply, his fingers rested on top of Blaine's face.

 

             _"Stop studying, Kurt," Blaine insisted. "You've been looking over those trigonometry notes for three hours. I may not be a scientist, but I'm pretty sure that's not the best study method."_

_Kurt didn't look up from his position on Blaine's floor, nose pressed into his notebook. "You're just saying that because you want to get into my pants."_

_Blaine sighed exaggeratedly, flopping onto the bed and groaning into his pillow. "That's not the_ main _reason," he protested. "Maybe I'm genuinely concerned for your mental health." When Blaine received no reply from this, he reached across to the bedside table and grabbed Kurt's phone off the top. He clicked open the camera and his face appeared on the screen. He stuck his tongue out, tilting his head to the side, and snapped the picture. Then he mussed up his curls and posed for another shot. He lay down on his back and pointed downward suggestively._

_"Blaaaaaine, you've been silent for much too long," Kurt called. "I'm worried. Please don't tell me you've resorted to sexting some cock-hungry fifty-year-old Indian man on Omegle."_

_Blaine laughed, hanging upside down off the edge of the bed. "I'm taking pictures on your phone."_

_Kurt whirled around. "Oh, great, so the police will think it's me illegally sexting-"_

_"I'm not illegally sexting anyone, worrywart. I'm taking pictures of myself, so you'll always have something_ pleasant _to look at when you're in New York," Blaine replied, grinning cheesily into the camera. "Come take a picture with me."_

_"Blaine, I'm studying."_

_"Please? It's just one picture." Blaine pouted._

_Kurt, grumbling, rose to his feet and strode over to the bed. "One picture," he said determinedly._

_Blaine held out the phone, finger posed over the picture button, and pressed his lips to Kurt's cheek. The flash went off and they leaned in to look at the result. "I look like shit," Kurt muttered._

_"No-" Blaine reached up to kiss the dark circles under his eyes, "-you-" He kissed the tip of his nose, "-don't." He kissed Kurt lightly on the lips. "You look beautiful."_

"Kurt? Are you okay?"

            Kurt started. "Oh, god. Aaron." He quickly closed the book, tucking it subtly under the blanket. "Yes-yes, I'm fine."

            Aaron crossed through the room and sat beside him. "You're crying."

            "O-oh. It was just a rough day at work, you know. Isabelle didn't like my idea of cashmere socks," Kurt said.

            Aaron moved closer, his arm going around Kurt's shoulders in what he thought was a reassuring gesture. "Everything's going to be fine."

            Kurt gnawed the inside of his cheek, his skin prickling at Aaron's touch. "I hope so."


	6. It Messed Me Up, Need A Second To Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains self-harm, although not explicitly the act of doing so. You all have been waiting so patiently for this chapter, so I hope my co-author and I did it justice. Thanks again to all who read and review! This chapter's song and title comes from Whadaya Want From Me by the lovely Adam Lambert. We update every Sunday!

_Just don't give up, I'm workin it out_  
Please don't give in, I won't let you down  
 **It messed me up, need a second to breathe**  
Just keep coming around  
Hey, whataya want from me?

****

            "Are you telling me that you said yes to a guy you've only been dating for three years? And this is the same guy who couldn't find the balls to propose to you himself?" Burt remarked for what felt like the hundredth time.

            Kurt sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, thumping his head repeatedly against the padding of the sofa. "Yes, dad," he replied stiffly. He could hear the disapproval echoing in this father's voice and though muffled by the poor cell phone reception, his stomach sank with every word that left his mouth.

            Burt paused and Kurt could hear the familiar clangs and chatter of the auto shop buzzing in the background. "Look, son, I raised you for eighteen years. The Kurt Hummel I knew never would've settled down so early, and for a man that didn't propose from the top of the Empire State Building, no less. There's something else going on."

            The apartment was suffocatingly silent, filled only with the sound of Kurt's shaky breathing and the furious beeping of drivers outside. He had been stupid to think that Burt wouldn't see right through him; that the phone would provide a cover for how he truly felt.

            "I cracked under the pressure," Kurt whispered. The back of his neck prickled as if Aaron was standing over him, watching with tears streaming down his cheeks.  _He's at school,_  Kurt assured himself,  _he can't hear you._

Burt exhaled, long and slow. "You have to tell him you don't want to marry him."

            "But I do-"  

            "You have the entire world ahead of you, bud. Are you really ready to give up a potential Vogue career? Or the Broadway stage? Don't get me wrong, Kurt, I want you to get married, but at the right time with someone you truly love."

            Kurt's heart ached. Why couldn't just be the person his father clearly thought he was? His fingers trembled when he lifted them up to press the palm of his hand against the frosted window pane. There was his city, right outside the window, sparkling with snow and polished by an atmosphere of jubilancy. New Yorkers didn't settle for anything less than the best. They were wired for supremacy; for being able to navigate icy streets through crowds of thousands of people; for being able to scout out the best bagel places; for being able to pawn Broadway tickets off eBay for minimalistic prices.

            "Kurt? You still there?"

            "Um, yeah," Kurt said. "Yeah, sorry."

            "What's on your mind? The engagement can't be all," Burt asked. His voice was kind, patient, sympathetic. He wanted nothing more than to be home in safe little Lima, curled up on the couch and spilling his guts over steaming mugs of warm milk.

            Before he knew it, the words were bubbling up over his lips and pouring into the phone receiver. "I saw Blaine. I saw him for the first time in  _years_  and god, dad, he looked _awful._  He's on drugs now- _"_

            "This can't be the same guy-"

            Kurt leapt off the couch and began pacing back and forth like if he didn't move, he would explode. "It's all my fault, I know it is. I just keep thinking that maybe if I fixed him, if I could just help him get to a better place, I could be happy with Aaron the way I'm  _supposed_  to be."

            "Whoa, whoa, slow down," Burt insisted. "Who told you that you're ‘supposed' to be with Aaron? There's nobody you're ‘supposed' to be with, Kurt. And what happened to Blaine isn't your fault. It was his own choice to go down that path and there's nothing you could've done to change it."

            Burt's words weren't getting through to him. Of course it was his fault. He couldn't stop seeing what Blaine would've been like if Kurt had stayed with him or waited for him or done something.

            "I have to fix him, dad." Kurt sank to the ground, running his free hand through his hair.

            "Son, you have to realize that you can't fix everybody. Some people are broken and there's not a damn thing you can do about it."

            "I can't stop trying. Don't you see? If I stop trying, then I'll be just as broken as him. He was a part of me once and I can't forget that. I might be doing this for myself or for Aaron or for Blaine; I don't care, but I know this is something I have to do."

            Kurt waited anxiously for Burt's response, the cool wood floor digging into his upper thighs as the seconds ticked by. "I trust you. Do what you need to do. Follow your heart," Burt said.

            His eyes slipped close, hand sweaty clamped around his phone. "Thanks."

            "You take care, son."

            "You too, dad."

 

            "Up and at ‘em, Lady Hummel! Hurry up and spray yourself with the mist of fairy cum or douse yourself in rainbow sparkles only found at the bottom of every other Lucky Charms box or whatever it is you gays do to get ready and we'll be on our way."

            Kurt groaned, rolling over and clapping his hands over his ears. "What the fuck?" he exclaimed. "I don't have class today, I'm allowed to sleep in."

            Santana, who had been primping her long dark curls in the mirror, picked up one of Kurt's pillows from the floor and promptly smacked him over the head with it. "This isn't about class, princess, we have work to do. If you're not up in five, I'm going to make Rachel come over here and serenade you."

            She slammed the door behind her on the way out, causing Kurt to jolt and fall off the edge of his bed. On the floor, he squirmed out of his huddle of blankets and stalked across the bedroom to his dresser. "Fucking Santana," he grumbled as he fished a set of clothes out of the drawers. "‘Living with her will be fun', they said. ‘She's a great friend', they said. Fuck them."

            After brushing his teeth and combing his hair, Kurt padded out into the kitchen only to find Santana flipping through one of his _Vogue_ magazines on the couch with his Broadway cup in hand.

            "What're you doing?" Kurt wanted to know, rifling through the cupboards and retrieving a new pouch of coffee. "And please tell me why the hell you thought it was a good idea to wake me up at eight on my day off."

            Santana stood up and smoothed her skintight magenta dress, striding over to the counter and heaving herself onto the surface. "We have business to take care of," she replied matter-of-factly.

            "Fuck no, Santana, I am not going with you on another one of your ‘business trips'. Last time we nearly got arrested-"

            "Jesus Christ, Hummel, I'm not talking about that kind of  _business._ This is your business." She leaned close to him, her lips stained bright red and her eyes flickering with excitement. "I heard your conversation last night, with your dad. I didn't even mean to, but I was coming over to your apartment to borrow milk-you know how Berry bitches when she doesn't get milk with her evening tea-and I heard you talking about the hobbit."

            Kurt nearly dropping the coffee cup in his hands, hot water splashing over the rim and burning the flesh on his forefinger. " _Santana_!" he hissed. "You can't just do that! Breaking into someone's apartment and eavesdropping is a federal offense!"

            Santana rolled her eyes. "Oh, please, I just used the spare key under the doormat."

            Kurt threw his hands up in the air, exasperated.

            "Okay, fine, whatever, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that, please forgive me, blah blah blah. Anyways, the point is that I heard what I heard and there's not a damn thing we can do to change it. So, being the darling angel I am, I decided to take you to see your long missing gay twin Buckenheim today."

            Kurt nearly choked on his sip of coffee, grasping the counter with white knuckles. "This is none of your concern, Santana. Blaine is my problem and I'm going to deal with him on my own."  
            Santana hopped off the counter and dumped her mug in the sink, then turning to face Kurt with hands on her hips. "I'm so fucking sick of your ongoing pity party. Rachel and I were friends with Blaine, too; I genuinely liked the twinkle-toed superstar. For the past four years, you think you've been the only one entitled enough to be upset about your stupid breakup, but you're not. Yes, I chose your side, but that doesn't mean I don't occasionally miss the hobbit and that certainly doesn't mean I'm not allowed to still care about him," she snapped bitterly. "I suggest you suck your whole ‘Blaine is my problem' argument back up your bubble butt and shut the hell up."

            Kurt flinched, lowering his gaze to the ground. He bit his lip, embarrassed. She was right. Santana, despite her harsh exterior, was always fucking right. "NYU is my only lead," he said finally. "I've gone twice already but managed to miss him both times."

            Santana shrugged. "Third time's the charm. Besides, if we go early enough we might be able to speak to one of his teachers. Assuming you already got his class schedule?"   
            Kurt blushed, grabbing his messenger bag off the coat rack. "Yeah. And there's one teacher in particular I want to speak to."

 

            "It's colder than Santa Claus's testicles out here," Santana observed, clutching her elbows and shivering as they made their way across New York University's campus.

            Kurt laughed. "Where do you even come up with these metaphors, San?"

            "My Mexican third eye has a powerful insight for clever innuendos, porcelain."

            Santana had insisted on stopping for bagels-"I can't be my sassy self without some protein"-and after waiting in an hour long line and missing their bus ride to the university, they had managed to arrive nearly two hours later than expected.

            The streets were busy as usual, snow falling in massive, glistening clumps from the stone grey sky above. Kurt's fingers were permanently frozen around his black seed bagel, he was sure, and his toes were bound to blue from where they were cramped in his combat boots. But this was all for Blaine, he kept reminding himself. He would freeze, and get stuck in hour long lines, and put up with all of Santana's rude remarks if it meant he could save Blaine.

            "What room was it again?" Santana asked and they rounded the corner into the English hall.

            "Mr. Ellis's," Kurt replied. "There's an outdoor entrance and then the one from inside the building, but I think we'd have a better chance of getting in from the outside." The snow beneath their feet crunched deafeningly as they neared the classroom door. The chilled air caught in his throat as he struggled to breathe. This could be it.

            The door was locked, they discovered as Kurt repeatedly jiggled the frozen knob. "Excuse me, Mr. Ellis? It's Kurt Hummel, Blaine's friend. I was wondering if I could speak to you!"

            "Kurt, Jesus, shut up," snarled Santana, peeking into the side window. "Do you want to attract the entire campus?"

            Kurt stood back, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched Santana teeter back and forth on her tiptoes. "Nobody's in there."

            "Shut up."

            "It's fucking freezing, Santana, let's just go back."

            "Kurt, shut up."

             "I'm not going to wait out here all day for some creep of a teacher. The least we could do is go get coffee and some warmer clothes, I mean, come on-"

            "KURT!" Santana screamed, jumping down off her perch and yanking him over to the door. "There's somebody in there, sleeping in one of the desks And don't you dare tell me it's probably a pile of books or a lump of clothes because I've walked in on my share of classroom squatters; I know the difference," she quipped.

            Kurt shook his head in disbelief. "Why would anyone want to break into an English classroom and sleep at ten in the morning?" he asked.

            Santana was digging in her purse, spilling various lipsticks and tampons and coupons onto the ground. "How the fuck should I know? Maybe it's the teacher, maybe it's some broke ass stripper looking for a place to rest, maybe it's Robin Williams."

            "How are you going to get in there, anyway?"

            Triumphantly, she held up a sparkly blue nail filer. "Where there's a will, there's a way, Lady Hummel." The seconds ticked by as Santana tinkered with the lock, her fingers red and swollen from the cold but still driven by an inner desperation.

            At last, the lock clicked and the door swung open with a long creak. Kurt stepped inside, peering around the edge and bracing himself to see a disgruntled hobo swinging a club at them. The room was dark and just as cold as it had been outside, filled only with the fading and speckled light of the late morning sun. A patch of sunshine illuminated a dark shape huddled over one of the desks, back hunched and head covered by a tangle of arms. Kurt glanced back tentatively toward Santana but she shooed him forward.

            He turned back, creeping closer. "Um, hi. Sorry to wake you, but-" Kurt froze, every nerve in his body turning instantly to ice. Ebony curls slick with snowflakes, the chiseled curve of a jaw dusted with a five o'clock shadow, pink lips chapped from the cold wind. Blaine. And he wasn't moving.

            Kurt dropped to the ground, gripping his shoulders and shaking them furiously as he pushed him upright, his head flopping limply back. "Blaine? Blaine, please wake up. Blaine!" he cried, heart thumping like a siren in his ears. This couldn't be happening.

            Panicked, Kurt pressed two of his fingers to Blaine's throat, searching erratically for a pulse. Nothing. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

            "Kurt," Santana's voice was high-pitched with terror. "Kurt, should I call 911? Kurt?"

            Kurt could barely hear her. "BLAINE!" he screamed. He'd done it, he'd overdosed, or killed himself-Kurt didn't see any blood but-

            Blaine jerked upward, blinking rapidly and lifting his arms to cover his face. Kurt slumped completely, like all of the weight had been sucked from his body. He was awake. He was  _alive._

Almost dreamily, Blaine's gaze fell on Kurt. Despite the scarlet bags hanging from underneath his hazel eyes, Blaine looked just as beautiful as ever. There was a soft sort of serenity gracing over his features, like he was floating through space and he had no intention of ever landing. Then the serenity shattered and Blaine was scrambling up out of the desk and pressing himself flat against the far wall with wide and horrified eyes.

            "What the fuck are you doing here?"

            Kurt swallowed hard, extending a hand with trembling fingers towards the waste of the man before him. "Blaine, calm down, it's just me. I've been looking everywhere for you. Fuck, you look awful."

            Blaine streaked to his feet. He looked like a startled deer caught in headlights, with flushed white skin pigmented only by the red of his wild eyes and peeling lips. "It's ‘just you'? Because that's supposed to be reassuring," he spat sourly. "Of course I look like shit. Feel like shit, too." He bent towards Kurt, managing to keep the majority of his body keeled backward as much as possible as he scooped up his coat.

            Kurt was utterly helpless. He could recall a time when all Blaine needed was a mug full of herbal tea and a Disney movie to cure a broken heart or crushed dreams or even to help him forget about the most recent black eye. But now...But now it didn't look like there was anything that could fix him. There was something in his eyes; a deadly, agonized venom that swore he would down six bottles of pills in less than a moment if Kurt took one step closer.

            He glanced back to Santana in the doorway, her cocoa brown eyes as wide as golf balls as she watched Blaine in a disgusted awe. His mouth tasted like bile when he opened his mouth to speak again. "Please just listen to me, Blaine. We can fix this-together."

             "What the fuck is there to fix, Kurt? I'm not  _broken_. And you can't just expect to swoop in with a dash of White Knight Syndrome and assume I'm going to leap into your arms like some damsel in distress."

            Kurt shook his head insistently. He'd already let Blaine slip through his fingers countless times. He was not going to risk losing him again, not going to let him walk away with those dead eyes and painful smirk and take every damn thing Kurt had with him.

            "You just need help. Rehab, therapy, something. This isn't-" Kurt paused, racking his brain for the right words that wouldn't make Blaine stomp out of the room, "-this isn't who you used to be. I  _knew_  you, Blaine. I knew every freckle on your body and the way your right eye would twitch when you were upset and the way your mouth would frown ever so slightly when you hated something and that bright spark in your eye when you sang and the way you twirled and danced in the rain like you were a giddy puppy. Please just give me one more chance to find him."

            Kurt's words rang out into the quiet air of the classroom, pure hope sparking his tone. He needed Blaine to see, just needed him to know what this meant for him; for them.

            "‘People change'. I'm not who I ‘used to be', this is me  _now_  and I don't want your pity-party. I don't want your promised safety or your false hope because you gave me that four years ago.  _Four years ago,_  Kurt, and I was stupid enough to trust you then. But not now, not this time. I don't need you to come back and fucking try to ‘fix' me so you can be the hero." Blaine stepped down off the last riser, and strode towards the teacher's desk.

            Blaine's words echoed in his ears. He was right; he was so right that it hurt. He'd stopped understanding Blaine many years ago but Blaine had never stopped understanding him. Kurt was doing this for himself, for Aaron, for his peace of mind and not for the man whom he once loved.

            He took a step toward Blaine, lowering his head and begging himself not to burst into tears. "You're right, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? This is all  _my_ fault. You're like this because of _me_  and I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I shouldn't have come back here, I just..." Kurt was backing towards the door, eyes stinging. "I'm just sorry."

            "You're telling me everything I already knew, so hats off to you for your reiteration, good sir." He tilted back in the chair, arms crossed over his chest and eyes heartless raking over Kurt's body. God, when had he become so bitter? "Are you actually leaving or did you plan on coming back again once you've found a reason to ‘save me'?"

            He wasn't going to let Blaine treat him like this. For fuck's sake, he was a human being and he was going to make mistakes and he was going to break hearts but that didn't mean he didn't deserve to be given some decency. Kurt straightened his shoulders and bit back the tears.  _No,_  he told himself.  _No._

"I'm glad you got your way. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a wedding to plan with a man who is slowly driving me insane with every kiss, every touch and every fucking breath. I can't be with him and I thought that was because of you, but now I know I was wrong. It's my fault, all my fault, just like everything else. It's my fault for picturing your eyes every time I look at him and my fault for wanting it to be your arms around me when we cuddle and my fault for knowing I wouldn't be picturing anyone else but you when I stand up at the altar."

            Kurt was utterly shocked at the words that poured out of his mouth. He hadn't truly realized that was the way he felt until he'd heard them. Blaine was staring at him, all the venom gone from his glare and replaced with an almost unsure curiosity.

            He licked his lips nervously, picking at the oak of the desk before looking back up again. "If I give you my number, will you stop stalking me?" he asked.

            Kurt's breath hitched. He'd been expecting some sort of smart ass retort, a roll of the eyes and a dismissive wave of the hand. "Yes," he said almost too fast and sounding much too desperate. He needed this, needed it more than he needed air. Maybe he was still trying to do it for Aaron or so he could sleep better at night or maybe he was trying to do it because a little part of his heart still leapt at the sound of Blaine's name. He didn't know why and he didn't care, because he'd done it. Blaine had given in.

            Blaine reached robotically towards the pad of neon yellow sticky notes and scribbled out his phone number in navy pen. Then he stretched his arm forward, eyes glued to Kurt's expression.

            Kurt's fingers closed around the note, but he didn't even register the numbers; instead, he was fixated on the neat, red lines that streaked across the parchment-coloured flesh of Blaine's wrist. Kurt couldn't feel; couldn't think; couldn't breathe. He could only grab Blaine and pull him closer, fingers tingling in a sickening sort of electricity as he traced each perfectly sliced gash slowly.

            "Oh, Blaine," he whispered, hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

            Blaine ripped his arm out of Kurt's grasp and stumbled backward. "Go," he said, voice bleeding with agony. "I think you should go now."

            Kurt nodded, unable to think of anything but the cuts. Fuck, there were so many cuts. He took confused steps toward the door, the sticky note stuffed into his pocket, and the world spinning violently around him.

            He nudged the door closed with the heel of his shoe and stood stiffly under the falling snow. Santana's features were morphed into horror, her long lashes sprinkled with sparkling snowflakes.

 

            She held out her arms, shaking her head and Kurt fell against her, sinking to the ground as heaving sobs shook his body. 


	7. No Pain Inside, You're My Protection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song comes from Sober by P!nk, which I have been simply itching to use. We update every Sunday!

I'm safe up high, nothing can touch me  
But why do I feel this party's over?  
 **No pain inside, you're my protection  
** But how do I feel this good sober?

 _I'm so glad we're talking again._ Kurt's fingers trembled as he tapped out the text message, then hovered, frozen, above the send button. It had been nearly eight hours since he had last seen Blaine; eight agonizing hours spent laying curled up under his blankets while a constant stream of tears poured down his cheeks. Santana had been just as awestruck as he had been, staring into space with snow-white features and knuckles clenched so tightly around the subway armrest that Kurt was sure she was going to pass out. Once they had returned to their apartment building, Santana had departed into her room without so much as another word.

            Kurt had expected alcohol, and a snarky attitude and painful remarks about their past, that was a given. But he had not expected the cuts that ran in neat, symmetric lines over the frail flesh of Blaine's wrist. Kurt had been the cause of that. He was the  _reason_ Blaine had hurt himself.

            Kurt twisted in on himself, the phone huddled between his clammy hands. Maybe if he wished hard enough, he could simply disappear.  _Poof._

            The text was too plain. It sounded like casual conversation between normal ex-boyfriends; Blaine and Kurt were not normal ex-boyfriends. Frustrated, Kurt started at the dappled rays of honey golden sunlight that spilled through his window blinds, spraying in webbed patterns over his comforter as if it might hold the answer.

            "Kurt?" The call was followed by the slam of the front door and the rustle of a coat. Kurt rolled over and hefted the blanket over his head.  _Not today, please. Go away, Aaron._ There was a tentative knock at the door.  _GO AWAY, AARON._

            "Are you asleep?"

            He sighed heavily and sat up, peeking his head out to peer at his fiancé. Aaron grinned crookedly at him, stepping over and perching on the edge of his bed. "Feeling any better?" he asked.

            Plagued by thoughts of finding Blaine, Kurt had faked sick for the past two days and taken a mini vacation from Vogue, NYADA, and the diner. Kurt nodded, flopping back down and staring up at the ceiling. The phone was deadweight in his palm.

            Aaron laid down beside him, his lanky arm curving over Kurt's form as he pressed a soft kiss to the nape of his neck. "I missed you today. The piles of paperwork at my desk don't seem so large when I get to take lunch breaks with you," he chuckled. "Do you think you'll be back to normal by Monday?"

            His reply stuck like wet cotton in the back of his throat. Kurt wanted nothing more than to pretend he was sick for the rest of his life just so he could lay in bed and let all the problems around him sort themselves out. "I'm sure I will be," he said in monotone.

            "Good." Aaron kissed the line of his jaw, the tip of his tongue flitting out to nip at his skin. Kurt shifted uncomfortably, squirming until he could face him. Aaron's blond tendrils were still streaked with snowflakes and his eyes were startlingly blue, filled with only admiration and adoration. He was a wonderful person, Kurt knew that much, but he wasn't  _Kurt's_  wonderful person.

            "Not tonight," Kurt whispered, reaching his hand up to stroke Aaron's hair back. "Can we just...Can we just cuddle?"

            Aaron nodded with an understanding smile, pressing Kurt against his chest with secure and strong, thin arms. He smelled like pine cologne and blue stamp ink and laundry detergent. He smelled like familiarity and Kurt found himself sinking into his touch. He didn't feel like Blaine, or smell like Blaine, or act like Blaine in any way. But for what wasn't the first time in his life, Kurt needed to get his thoughts away from him.

            His fingers fumbled with the keypad on his phone, until he found the round send button. Inhaling shakily, Kurt pressed send and nestled closer to Aaron. Maybe he didn't love Aaron, but Aaron loved him and that was good enough for now.

 

            "Hello and welcome to the Spotlight Diner. I'm Rachel Berry and I'll be your server tonight. What can I get you?" Rachel displayed one of her signature superstar smiles, cocking her hip out and flipping her mahogany hair over her shoulder.

            The customer in front of her, who happened to be the only current inhabitant of the diner who wasn't slumped over at the bar with a margarita in hand, was a cute man who looked to be in his mid-twenties. He had shaggy dark brown hair and lines of exhaustion etched into his face. His eyes were brown and filled with charisma.

            It was five after twelve in the morning on a Saturday and if Rachel was going to be stuck with the only midnight shift in the entire diner, by God she was going to flirt with the attractive customers that happened to come in.

            "Good evening, Rachel," the man said with a flitting and somewhat sad smile. "Just a slice of cheesecake, if you could. Something expensive and filled with way too many empty calories."

            Rachel grinned. "Coming right up," she replied musically, slipping behind the bar and retrieving the cake from the fridge. "You remind me of one of my friends. He'd do anything for a slice of cheesecake."

            The man laughed quietly, staring down at his clasped hands. "He sounds like a great guy already."

            "Oh, he is. He works here with me actually. Well, not lately, because he's been sick. Or ‘sick', he's really just trying to get over his ex-boyfriend from a couple years ago." Rachel cut a piece of the dessert and placed it daintily on one of their  _Lion King: The Musical_ plates, sucking the sweet remains off the tips of her fingers.

            Rachel carried the plate over to him and sat down in the booth. "I'm having the same problem, actually. My roommate is doing the same, trying to get over his...I'm not sure how long it's been, maybe four years? But he's moping a lot more than usual as of late."

            "I'm taking an intermission!" Rachel announced loudly, though she knew Frank was no doubt asleep in the back room. That, or masturbating to some Broadway play. "Sorry, we have to say that every time we take a break. Your roommate sounds like a handful."

            "Oh he is, he's a complete nightmare. Apparently he had a run in with said ex and he's all shaken up again. I tried to help him the other night and called his father-" he broke off here, with a nervous cough, "-which turned out to be the worst idea in the entire world and he's even more brutal than usual."

            Rachel frowned as the man roughly stabbed the cheesecake with his fork. "Ah, daddy issues," she remarked coldly. "I'm sorry about your roommate..."

            "Christian," he supplied. "It's okay. Blaine is just about one part jackass and three parts stubborn. I can't imagine he's always been this way."

            Rachel froze, half-convinced she had fallen asleep some point during their conversation because she certainly couldn't have just heard that name come out of sweet Christian's mouth. " _Blaine?"_ she repeated. "I'm sorry,  _Blaine Anderson?_ "

            He glanced up at her from his plate, raising a dubious eyebrow. "That's him."

            "Holy shit," she muttered. "Holy shit. And you said he's your roommate? He  _lives_ with you?"

            Christian cocked his head at her. "Uh...yeah? For two years and a bit, now."

            Rachel jumped up out of the booth, yanking her waitress notepad and singing pen out of her apron pocket. "Look, I know this might sound a little abrupt, but can I have your number? There's someone I know who needs to get in contact with your...roommate."

            He looked up at the girl, mouth gaping open where he closed it a few times and took the pad from her to write down his number. "Don't let this... friend of yours fuck him up anymore, please. He's already messed up enough."

            Rachel nodded hurriedly, stuffing the paper back into her pocket and glancing at the rotating  _Wicked_  clock on the wall. "Damn, I don't get off until three." She sat down again in the seat, shoulders slumping in defeat. She debated calling Kurt to tell him about Christian, but knew she'd rather tell him about it in person. Her heart was still thumping deafeningly in her ears when she glanced back up at him through her long lashes.

            Clearing his throat uncomfortably and looking down at his hardly touched cheesecake, Christian said, "I could keep you company until then and we could uh.. Go.. out.. or something? I just know how lonely and boring the graveyard shift is."

            Rachel couldn't help the broad smile that graced over her lips as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I'd like that," she replied. "I'd like that a lot."

 

            When Kurt first heard the scream split through the silent air, he had thought it was a burglar. Aaron had jolted out of bed, fumbling for the light beside the door while Kurt snatched his cell off the bedside table and readied to call 911.

            The flashing green numbers of his alarm clock read 3:18. Kurt stumbled out of the tangle of blankets and hurried over to Aaron, who was cracking the bedroom door open. "Oh, my god, I knew this would happen. That homeless man on the street corner swore he would break into our apartment and steal all of my silk pajamas-"

            "Kurt!" Rachel came racing through the door, pushing them aside and running wildly with her coat swinging from her arms and her hair half-frozen in the faint hallway lighting.

            "Rachel!" Kurt exclaimed. She paused, hands on her knees and she inhaled the warm air. Her cheeks were flushed and she was still dressed in the bright red uniform from the Spotlight Diner. "What happened?"

            "I was working the midnight shift at the diner," she panted, chest heaving and cheeks flushed with urgency. "And this guy came in. He was super handsome and charming and he ordered cheesecake which reminded me of you and I told him that and then he started talking about his roommate who is trying to get over his ex-boyfriend and well, I really didn't listen to that part because I was too busy staring into his eyes, which kind of look like spring fields in May-"

            "Rachel, I swear to god, if you barged into my apartment at three in the morning to tell me about _some guy-"_

            "No, no, just listen! That guy is Blaine's  _roommate_." Kurt's eyes widened at his. "I got Christian's number so maybe you could try and contact Blaine-"

            Kurt's gaze flickered to Aaron, who was watching the fiasco with a deer-in-the-headlights expression. He shoved Rachel out into the hall, ignoring her protest and closed the door behind them. "Rachel, I saw Blaine today."

 _"What?_ When? Where?" she cried.

            "Santana and I-" The buzzing of his phone in his hand silenced them both and they looked down to the illuminated screen. It blinked with a text from Blaine.

            Kurt's breath hitched as he opened the message, his hands shaking so hard he could barely read the words.

 

_Me too._


	8. All That's Waiting Is Regret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains mentions of self-harm and visuals, although not explicitly the act of doing so. My beautiful co-author received a review on FanFiction that suggested we use Jar of Hearts by Christina Perri because it gave off a perfect sort of vibe so we used it for this chapter's song and title! Thanks to all who read!

_No I can't take one more step towards you_ __  
Cause **all that's waiting is regret**  
And don't you know I'm not your ghost anymore?  
You lost the love I loved the most  
  


Sometime around five in the morning, nearly two sleepless hours after Rachel had barged into his apartment, Kurt had untangled himself from Aaron's iron grasp and slipped on his robe before stumbling his way into Rachel and Santana's room across the hall. He'd found both of the girls seated on the couch, mugs of chai latte in their hands while  _RENT_ played on the television.

            Kurt had immediately lost himself in the comforting music and love stories, curled under the blanket between the girls while Rachel stroked through his hair. There was something about their continued silence as the early morning light broke over the skyline that soothed the writhing knot of guilt buried in his gut.

            It was around seven when Santana got up to shower, grumbling something about checking out a job at a strip club. Kurt sat up, tucking his knees to his chest as the opening credits to  _Hairspray_ played over the screen.

            "Are you and Aaron okay?" Rachel asked quietly, eyes fixated straight ahead.

            He sighed, fiddling with a loose thread on the hem of the quilt. "I don't know. I don't know what Aaron thinks about this and I don't _want_ to know."

            "Kurt, you're engaged to him. You can't just keep leaving him in the dark."

            He thumped his head against the back of the couch.  _But I don't love him._ "I'll try to talk to him tonight. I just...I need to sort things out with Blaine before I can sort things out with Aaron."

            "It's been four damn years, princess, and you're still putting the hobbit before yourself." Santana sashayed into the kitchen, a towel wrapped around her hair and a Statue of Liberty t-shirt half-hanging off her shoulders. Kurt bit back his retort. He knew Santana and he knew how deep seeing Blaine yesterday had hurt her. "When are you going to learn that your feelings come before your crack-addicted ex-boyfriend?"

            "God, Santana, he's not addicted to crack," he snapped.

            "Well, he's sure as fuck addicted to something and I don't give enough damns to find out what it happens to be." She slammed the cupboard shut with more force than necessary, her dark eyes glaring at the cereal bowl on the counter.

            Rachel rested a hand on his shoulder and shook her head. "Just leave her alone," she said. Santana stomped around the kitchen for a few more minutes and then retreated to her bedroom to dress.

            The sky was flushed with a pale pink that shone between the cracks of the stone grey clouds shifting with the swell of oncoming snow. New York City was nothing less than busy as a bee as the clock ticked eight on a Saturday morning. Kurt swirled the tip of his forefinger in the faint frost that coated the window pane, drawing an altogether too-happy smiley face that seemed to mock him.

            "Christian left his jacket at the diner last night," Rachel announced, standing up off the couch and placing her phone indiscreetly down her shirt. "He texted me his address."

            Kurt's breath caught in his throat.  _Blaine. Blaine's address._ He'd been to his school and now he knew where he lived. It was an invasion of privacy, Kurt was sure, but every fiber of his being ached to explore where he resided.

            "Do you want to come and see if you can talk to Blaine?" Rachel wanted to know. "I mean, it'll have to be quick because Christian could be home from work any moment and I'm sure he wouldn't take too kindly to us harassing his roommate-"

            "Yes, I want to go," Kurt interrupted. If there was even a tiny shred of possibility that he would get to confront Blaine again, and in a secluded area where he couldn't run away with those hurt-filled hazel eyes, Kurt would snatch it up in a heartbeat.

 

            Christian and Blaine lived in a surprisingly wealthy part of town. There were no scrounging homeless people loitering on the street corners or random shopping carts filled with various soiled clothing items like there were in Kurt's neighborhood. Their apartment building even had an adorable bellhop who eagerly asked if he could help.

            "You should move in with Christian," Kurt remarked as they rode in the working elevator up to the seventh floor, bumping Rachel's shoulder playfully. "Then you can live in this nice apartment building and pop out a couple of babies. Just don't forget who helped you on your climb to the top, okay? I expect a penthouse apartment filled with an endless supply of cheesecake and one of those fancy waterbeds."

            Rachel laughed, grabbing his hand and lacing their fingers together. "I missed this, you know? I missed my playful Kurt."

            Kurt knew what she meant. Between Aaron and the engagement and the issues with Blaine, Kurt had hardly been able to be there for his two best friends in the entire world, despite the fact that they had both been there consistently for him. He needed to fix that.  _Adding that to the list of impossible things to fix_ , Kurt thought bitterly.

            "Apartment two-twenty-one," Rachel said as they rounded the corner. A decorative clay pot filled with two blooming red roses rested beside the door to their room and Kurt couldn't help but think again of Blaine as he once was.

            She dug around in the pot before producing a single key and jiggling it into the lock. Suddenly, Kurt couldn't do it. What if Blaine was in there? What if he was high and drunk and sitting on his couch like absolutely nothing was wrong? This was his  _home_  and there was nothing stopping him from lashing out and breaking things or doing something rash.

            "Rachel. Rachel, wait," Kurt hissed, grabbing her hand as she began to push open the door. "I can't do this."

            She rolled her eyes and nudged the door all the way open, striding proudly into the room. "Yes, you can." Kurt froze, his feet glued to the carpeting below him. It was quaint. Small, but furnished in a way that made everything seem orderly and spacey. There was a line of shoes against the left wall, with a tall coat rack against the wall across. An expensive washing and drying machine set was placed in the first opening of the hallway that extended into the living room and kitchen beyond.

            Rachel was stalking directly towards the couch, where she put Christian's coat down and inspected the remainder of the room with an approving glance. "Kurt, stop freaking out. He's not here."

            Kurt cleared his throat.  _He's not here._  He nodded and slowly stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. Rachel was already prancing her way through the kitchen, marveling at the floral prints on the tile and the organized shopping lists tacked up on the fridge.

            "Oh, my god, he buys almond milk!" Rachel said with a giggle.

            Kurt took his time padding across the ground.  _This is where Blaine walks._ He traced over the faded grey leather of the sofa and the person-shaped indentation that indicated frequent presence.  _This is where Blaine sits._  He peered around the corner and down a short hallway lined with doors.

            "Where are you going?" Rachel called, but Kurt barely heard her.

            "I need to see something."

            He opened the first door on the right, knowing the moment he saw the immaculate line of ironed dress shirts and perfectly made bed that it had to be Christian's room. He stopped in front of the next door, his fingers curling over the cool metal of the doorknob.  _Blaine touches this doorknob._

And then the door was open and Kurt was stepping into the room and closing it behind him and pressing his back up against the wall as he inhaled the sweet, musky scent that was entirely  _Blaine._

The simple white sheets of his bed were crumpled and half-tossed onto the crème-colored carpeting. His dresser was an unintelligible mess of wrinkled t-shirts and various empty cologne bottles.

            He turned away from the mirror, hands flitting through the discarded accessories until his palm grazed the cool outline of a box. The wood was engraved with an intricate web of wire, weaving in and out in transfixing patters that lead to the metallic fold-over lock. Kurt lifted open the lid with trembling fingers that shook to a rhythm of their own accord.

            Concealed underneath shattered and glistening shards of glass, was an unblemished roll of snapshots of Kurt and Blaine.  

 

             _"Please, please, please. It'll be just like a 1920's black and white montage!" Kurt insisted, tugging at Blaine's arm and motioning in earnest toward the Lima Hills Mall photo booth._

 _Blaine sighed, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips as his gaze flickered between his boyfriend and the booth in front of them. "But that's so_ cliché.  _Who wants to waste three dollars for a roll of pictures we can very well take ourselves?"_

_"That's not the point, B. It's about the experience; about cramming ourselves into a plastic box and taking stupidly stereotypical teenage romance pictures to hide under our pillows and cackle to ourselves in the dismal dark of the night," Kurt declared._

_Blaine laughed. "Alright, fine, but you're paying."_

_"Always the gentleman."_

_They spent the next couple moments fumbling their way into the booth and trying to accommodate both of them onto the impossibly tiny seat. Finally, Kurt wound up on Blaine's lap with one of his legs sticking awkwardly out from underneath the stark red curtain._

_Kurt pointed to the camera. "Look there and smile," he instructed Blaine._

_"Thank you for the ever-wise advice."_

_They both plastered cheesy smirks on their faces when the first flash went off, immediately resituating themselves as the timer ticked down to the next picture. Kurt pressed his lips to Blaine's flushed cheek while Blaine stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes. The third bright light went off, catching Kurt bent over and mid-laugh while Blaine made as if he was about to lick Kurt's erected coif._

_"We have to kiss for the last one."_

_"Oh, I thought you didn't like ‘cliché'."_

_"We're already too far in, it's now or never, Hummel."_

_"You're on, Anderson."_

            Kurt's stomach was flip-flopping, his breath coming out in heaving gasps. He missed that. He missed feeling utterly and completely in love; being stupid and foolish and carefree. He hesitated before gently placing the pictures back into the box. He fingered a couple of the glass pieces, feeling the sharp edges prick his skin in a way that was almost therapeutic.

            It was then that he saw the stained red curve of one of the larger shards. This was what Blaine used. These were the tools Blaine used when he hurt himself. Those were the pictures that filled Blaine's mind every time he opened the designed metal box and picked up the glass. Kurt stumbled, catching himself against the dresser as tears filled his eyes and the world spun around him.

             _No._

He would not let Blaine do this to himself anymore. He was going to take the goddamn box and throw it into a deep, dark hole. He dropped the box like it was filled with fire, slamming shut the lid and turning away.

            Crossing his arms over his chest as if that would sooth the pain in his heart, he stalked over to the closet and rifled through his clothing. Ripped jeans, t-shirts, hoodies; clothes that Blaine five years ago wouldn't have even glanced at in the department store.

            He reached up, dragging along the top shelf of the closet, pushing away a stack of blankets, and pulling down a somewhat less conspicuous-looking faded blue box.  _Please don't let this be like the other._

Bowties. The box was filled with fucking bowties. Kurt couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out his lips or the tears that spilled down over his cheeks. Of all the things Blaine could've kept, he saved the damned bowties. Red ones, blue ones, pink ones, ones with little Christmas trees, ones with tiny microphones, ones covered in the letter "B", ones covered in music notes. They were just  _bowties._

Next to them was a neatly assorted array of playbills. Blaine had almost more than Kurt.  _Wicked, Annie, Chicago, RENT, Hairspray, Hair, Spring Awakening, Cats, Phantom of the Opera, the Lion King, the Book of Mormon, Cinderella._  They filled Kurt with an acute sort of jubilancy, like he was back in Ohio printing out cheap Broadway covers while Blaine kissed the back of his neck.

            He replaced the box and circled the room once before plopping down on top of his mattress. The box of bowties and alphabetized playbills and pictures in the box; those were Blaine. The drugs and the alcohol and that horrible, antagonizing look of oblivion that passed over his face before he realized who he was looking at; that was not Blaine.

            "I'm going to fix you," Kurt said into the silence of the room. "I swear, I will fix you."

            With that, Kurt gathered up the box of glass and frozen memories from the dresser surface, wishing he could gather up his heart in a similar fashion, and promptly left with the words still burning on the tip of his tongue.


	9. Waiting For This Cough Syrup To Come Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for sex, mentions of self-harm and suicide. This song's chapter and title are from Cough Syrup by Young the Giant. Thanks for reading! Enjoy.

_If I could find a way to see this straight_  
I'd run away  
To some fortune that I, I should have found by now

**_I'm waiting for this cough syrup to come down,_ **

_Come down._

 

             _Aaron's favorite flavor of ice cream was strawberry, Kurt knew that much. But as he stood in the middle of Walmart's condom section, Kurt wondered why he had never bothered to ask Aaron what his favorite flavor of condom happened to be during their nine months of dating. There were so many different types; latex, non-latex, ribbed, icy hot, glow-in-the-dark, ultrathin, banana, coconut, Coca Cola, pink, purple with sparkles, orange polka-dotted, extra small, small, medium, large, and extra large. Would Aaron want ones with special effects? Was he allergic to latex? What size would Aaron need? God, why hadn't he asked these questions before making the damned trip to Walmart?_

_Kurt rubbed his sweaty palms down the sides of his skintight white jeans with a shaky sigh. He didn't remember being nervous when he did this with Blaine. Then again, he and Blaine had never scheduled when they had sex, whereas Aaron had their first time marked on the calendar. That was one thing he loved about Aaron though; his consistency and order._

_Finally, after snatching the polka-dotted condoms off the shelf and receiving a strange look from the acne-covered college student behind the pharmacy counter, Kurt grabbed non-latex in medium and the strawberry flavored just in case Aaron's ice cream preferences aligned in this instance._

_Kurt's stomach churned all the way home on the subway, the boxes of condoms burning holes through his designer messenger bag. He'd had sex many times before-twenty-four to be exact, but who was counting? He knew what he liked and he knew what his ex-boyfriend had liked as well, but Aaron was entirely mysterious. And he was also a virgin, Kurt's conscience never failed to remind him. Kurt was going to take someone's virginity; this was going to be Aaron's first ever sex experience and he needed it to be good for him, even if it wasn't good for Aaron._

_Two hours and one dispute with a homeless man later, Kurt returned to the apartment he shared with Santana and Rachel. He had exactly thirty-three minutes until Aaron would be arriving. He started a pot of boiling water on the stove, dumped a container of penne pasta into it, and made his way throughout the apartment tossing various feminine products into the girls' room. He washed his sheets and made the bed and lit vanilla-scented candles on every available surface. Yes, it was cliché, but cliché was romantic._

_Right as Kurt was cracking open the bottle of raspberry wine, there was a tentative knock at the front door. Kurt's nerves went on high alert as he took small steps toward the door. This was it._

_Aaron was dressed in a crisp, spotless white button-down shirt with a pair of khakis. His blond hair was slicked back and he carried a bouquet of vibrant yellow daisies. He smiled softly as he stepped through the doorway._

_"The apartment looks great," he remarked._

_Kurt beamed, leading Aaron to the tiny breakfast table which he had carefully laid with their finest plastic plates. "Why, thank you very much. I tried."_

_He placed the flowers down onto the counter and took his place at the table. "This looks delicious, Kurt. Who knew you could cook so well?"_

_Kurt shrugged smarmily and sat down across from his boyfriend. "I have many hidden talents," he replied with a wink, smirking at the way Aaron's cheeks flushed scarlet._

_They ate dinner in silence, their forks clinking against the plastic plates in a rhythm that almost drowned out Kurt's anxiously beating heart. It was only when they were bent over the sink, both scrubbing their plates, that Aaron finally broke the thick tension._

_"K-Kurt?" he whispered. "I'm kind of...nervous."_

_Kurt exhaled with a relieved laugh. "Oh, god, me too," he admitted, drying his hands on the dishtowel and then reaching forward to squeeze Aaron's. "We don't have to do this tonight."_

_Aaron hesitated, his baby blue eyes flickering back and forth between Kurt's hands and his lips. "No, I want to do this. I love you." He leaned in and pressed his lips to Kurt's._

_Kurt smiled against the tender pressure of him above, and kissed him back gently. Yes, this was right. He knew it was right. Aaron was sweet and soft and lovely and he wanted to explore every part of him while taking his time._

_They stumbled backward towards Kurt's bedroom, hands roaming over bodies and tugging at various articles of clothing. When they collapsed on the bed, both of their shirts had already been removed, chests heaving and glistening with sweat.  
            As Kurt pushed Aaron into the mattress and straddled his hips, he wondered what Aaron was thinking about his bare chest. Was he fat? Was he too thin? Were his nipples weird? Their lips met again and Kurt thrust down against Aaron. Was this too fast? Could Aaron feel him through his jeans? Did that make Aaron feel good?_

_The questions flitted through his mind on a nonstop cycle, even as he slowly pushed into Aaron and felt the world crumble around him in ecstasy. Too fast? Too slow? More? Less? Was he big enough? Did he pick out the right condoms? Maybe he should've gotten the ribbed ones. Aaron never vocalized how he felt or what he wanted, instead just letting out small whines and hushed grunts of pleasure every couple of seconds when the slapping of skin became too loud._

_When they finished and Kurt's entire body was still buzzing from the orgasm, they laid together amongst the sweat-soaked sheets. It was good, Kurt decided as Aaron's breathing slowed and his arm became slack around Kurt's waist. It was good._

_Kurt felt his consciousness slipping away leisurely, a single thought teetering on the edge of his mind. Not once, during all of his time with Blaine, had he ever questioned himself._

            Kurt returned home from Blaine's apartment at around one. He hugged Rachel goodbye at his doorstep and opened the door. He hung his damp coat on the rack and shook the snowflakes from his hair, the box under his arm pressing into his side.

            He set it on the counter, pausing just to stare at it. The very thought of what it contained made Kurt's flesh crawl with distaste and guilt. Maybe if he opened it one more time, just looked inside, the contents would disappear and it all would've been a horrific nightmare. He took a deep breath, his eyes sliding shut as his fingers danced over the lock of the box.

            The lid snapped open and the glittering shards of glass and string of photos stared back mockingly at him.  _We're not going anywhere, Kurt,_ they seemed to say.  _This is your reality now._

"Kurt?"

            Kurt jumped, slamming the box shut and whirling around to face his fiancé. Aaron's smile slipped as he craned his neck to peer behind Kurt. "What's that?"

            "O-oh, nothing," Kurt said hurriedly, pressing his back against the hard corner of the counter and shoving the box away. "How was your day?"

            Aaron shook his head, taking a step closer which caused Kurt to lurch backward. "Kurt? What are you hiding?"

            "It's nothing, just something I picked up from the flea market down the street."

            Aaron paused, his eyes raking over Kurt's expression. "You're lying," he decided finally. "You're lying. Your left eye twitched when you said that. Let me see."

            "Aaron, no-" Kurt exclaimed, but Aaron was already making a beeline through the kitchen towards the box, arms outstretched and eyes narrowed. Kurt made a grab for it, barely grasping the cool metal latch, but Aaron was too quick. He snatched the box up and wrenched open the lid in a fashion that was much too rough.

            Then Aaron just stared inside, his eyes unblinking and his lips pressed tightly together. Kurt fell into the barstool, dragging his fingers through his hair tiredly. "It's not what you think," he muttered.

            Aaron swallowed hard. "I think it's exactly what it looks like. I thought-I knew you were back in contact with him, you were being all secretive and jumpy when your phone went off and then Rachel came in last night and I...I should've known, I should've known it would come right back to this."

            "Aaron, stop. Listen to me,  _it's not like that._ I saw him, a couple weeks ago, and he's gotten into drugs, I had to help him," Kurt pleaded.

            Aaron lifted the string of pictures out of the box with trembling fingers. "So that's what this is about. You're conducting a drug franchise behind my back?"

            Kurt scoffed. "No, no, of course not. I'm trying to  _help_ him, Aaron, he needs me. You have no idea what I-" he choked, "-what I did to him all those years ago. I'm the reason that he's like this, I can't just stand back and watch him throw himself away."

            The box fell to the ground with a  _crash!,_ the glass shards shattering further when they clattered onto the tile. "He's your ex-boyfriend from four years ago." Aaron's voice was strangely toneless, sounding like an echo. "Why does he matter so much to you? You're with me now, aren't you? We're  _engaged._ "

            This couldn't be happening. "Yes, of course we are, but Blaine isn't just an ex-boyfriend. He was my best friend before we even started dating and I can't just-"

            "Can't? Or won't?" Aaron's glare was icy, piercing straight into Kurt's mind like he was dissecting a frog in high school biology. "Because right now, this-" he pointed to the picture still clutched in his hand, "-this looks like you  _won't._ "

            "I know what it seems like," Kurt supplied slowly. His mouth tasted like bile and his stomach was twisting into knots. He didn't know why he was so afraid of losing Aaron. Wasn't this what he had wanted ever since the proposal? "But you have to believe me. Doesn't our past mean anything to you? Are you really going to discard our entire relationship based on a box of stained glass?"

            Aaron closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. In this moment, he didn't look like the man Kurt had fallen in love with once upon a time. He looked tough and his jaw clenched like he was struggling to keep his temper under control and his hands shook uncontrollably. "You've been lying to me this entire time, Kurt. You told me that you were sick, or at work or school or out with friends. You  _lied_  to me. Why didn't you just tell me about him, if it truly meant nothing to you?"

            Kurt was going to throw up. "I was scared," he said hoarsely, staring down at a stain on the counter instead of up at his partner. He could feel Aaron looking at him; he could feel the stone cold anger buried into his glance.

            "Is this why you've been acting so strange about our engagement? God, I knew there was something wrong. But I just thought, _Kurt's just nervous, Kurt's just stressed out from the diner and vogue and school_ and  _I am so lucky to have such an ambitious man._ While I was thinking about how much I love you, while I was trusting you, you were out with your ex-boyfriend," Aaron spat.

            "I'm sorry-"

            "Do you even love me anymore, Kurt? Did you ever love me?" There was a foot of marble counter separating them, but now it felt like an entire lifetime.

            The words dangled on the tip of his tongue, but they tasted bitter. He had loved Aaron. He used to love Aaron. But...he wasn't so sure anymore. "Aaron..."

            "I knew it," Aaron snapped. The glass crunched under his shoe as he made his way out of the kitchen and stalked through the living room. "I still love you! Does that mean  _anything_  to you?"

            Kurt climbed to his feet. Fuck, he'd been so careless. He should've just disposed of the box the moment he'd left the apartment. "Of course it does. Please just give me time. I know I can make things go back to the way they used to be. Don't...don't you want that?"

            Aaron's posture slumped completely. He looked so utterly defeated that Kurt's heart shuddered pathetically in his chest. "I want that more than anything. But you don't love me anymore, you've lied and cheated and gone behind my back and I can't be with someone who doesn't tell me about these-things."

            "We can fix this," Kurt declared, his voice sounding much stronger than he felt.

            A thunderous round of knocking interrupted their conversation. "Kurt!" Rachel was screaming. It sounded like an entire army was beating at their front door. "Kurt, open up!"

            Kurt hurried to the door and unlocked it. There were streams of tears pouring down Rachel's cheeks and her eyes were wide with terror. Her phone was clasped in her hand and she was half-dressed in her coat.

            "What is it? What happened?"

            "Blaine-he's on his way to the hospital. He tried to-to commit suicide." Everything around Kurt froze. The words rang out in his ears. _Commit suicide. Suicide. Suicide._ And then Kurt was racing out the doorway with Rachel hot on his heels.

            "We have to walk! It'll be faster than the subway!" she shouted.

            "Kurt!"

            Kurt stopped as he reached the stairwell, glancing back at Aaron who had made his way halfway down the hallway. "You can't leave me for  _him."_

            "I have to!" Kurt cried. His voice broke and tears stung the corners of his eyes.

            Aaron pointed out the window with fire in his once cold eyes. "If you leave, we're done, Kurt. We're done."

            Kurt paused for half a second, frozen between the two men whom he had loved and the two men who he had ruined like they were simple articles of old clothes. Aaron. Blaine. He knew what he had to do and he knew what it would cost him, but he didn't care.

 

            With one last shake of his head, Kurt clamored down the stairs. 


	10. Please Don't Leave Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for self-harm, suicide mentions and a suicide attempt. The song used in this chapter is Please Don't Leave Me by P!nk.

_Can't you tell that this is all just a contest?_  
The one that wins will be the one that hits the hardest  
I always say how I don't need you  
But it's always gonna come right back to this  
 **Please, don't leave me**

"Blaine! Blaine!" The scream was ripped from Kurt's throat as he went careening around the block corner. The heels of his combat boots skidded on the thin sheet of ice that covered the pavement, and his cheeks were wet with snowflakes, but his eyes were fixed on the ambulance that had parked in front of the hospital entrance.

            Kurt's chest constricted painfully as he came to a screeching halt behind the paramedics who were unloading the stretcher from the vehicle.  He caught a glimpse of Blaine's skin, paper white and as pale as the snow falling from the sky. His curls were slick with sweat, his body flopping uselessly as the stretcher was wheeled through the doors. An IV was hooked up to his arm and both of his wrists were covered in already blood-stained cotton bandages, concealing the gaping gashes Kurt knew were there.

            He couldn't hear the nurses shouting at him, or see Rachel frozen with tears streaming down her cheeks, or feel the sudden humid warmth of the waiting room. There was just Blaine. There was just Blaine and the bright red blood dripping onto the tile, leaking from his wrists.

            "Sir, you must stay in the waiting room until further notice. Sir!" Kurt pushed past the nurse restraining him and watched as Blaine was carried out of sight. What if he died? What if they couldn't save him? It was all his fault.

            "No, you don't understand," he replied, his voice raw with desperation. "I have to see him, please."

            The nurse shook her head. "Sir, you must remain here until the patient is stabilized enough to receive visitors. Are you family?" Kurt's ears were ringing. He couldn't think straight. "Sir?"

            He watched as a man with mousy brown hair and a blood stained t-shirt rocketed through the doors right behind Blaine. "Why does he get to go in?" he cried. "Why the fuck is he allowed in?" He was too loud, too vulgar, too scared.

            Rachel's hand was on his arm, gently pulling him away from the nurse. "Kurt. Kurt, stop. He'll be okay, just stop shouting, please," she said softly. Kurt let her lead him to one of the sickly plastic chairs in the waiting room, where others sat with shaking hands and terrified expressions. The world spun around him, churning and blending the faces with their bloodshot eyes and Styrofoam cups of coffee. This was all just a nightmare.

            The seconds transformed into minutes as the all too decorate Hawaii-themed clock on the far wall ticked away.  _Tick tock. You're the reason Blaine tried to kill himself. Tick tock. You've been here before, haven't you? Tick tock. If you had just stayed with him, this wouldn't have happened. Tick tock. Now you've destroyed two of your lovers. Tick tock. All your fault. Tick tock._

"Rachel?" It was him again, the man who had been allowed to stay with Blaine while Kurt had been forced to remain outside like a fool. He collapsed into the seat next to Rachel, raking his fingers through his hair and exhaling exhaustedly.

             Rachel instantly reached for his hands and squeezed them reassuringly. "What happened? Is he going to be alright?"

            "He's okay. He's uh...Well, he's stable. For now." He gave her a watery smile before his gaze settled on Kurt. Something in his baby blue eyes snapped as recognition fell over him. And it was then that Kurt knew who this mystery man was. "You. You're the one who did this to him."

            " _Christian."_  Kurt spat the word like an insult, gripping the cheap armrests as if to steady himself. "How fucking dare you."

            The man in question nearly stumbled out of his seat, pain creasing his face as he brought his index finger and thumb to press at the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezing shut. "What the hell are you even doing here?"

            "What the hell am  _I_ doing here? I'm trying to make sure Blaine is okay. At least I try, which is more than I can say for you. Where are you when he's out high off his ass and dancing at some strip club? Huh?" Kurt was blazing with anger as he lurched upward. It wasn't Christian's fault, he knew that much, but he was tired of blaming himself.

            Christian raised an eyebrow, letting out a mocking, broken laugh. "Where am I? I'm right there trying to make sure that he's okay because I know that I can't control another fucking person's actions if they don't want to be helped. You obviously didn't get the memo that he didn't need you around."

            Rachel was shaking her head furiously at them. "This isn't the time for this!"

            "Blaine became your responsibility when you decided to move in with him.  _You_ watched him become what he is,  _you_  watched him hurt himself, and you didn't do a damn thing about it." Kurt jabbed an accusatory finger at him, stepping closer and practically feeling the anger emanating off of Christian.

            "He was already like that when he showed up!" His hands were in the air, waving about as if Kurt were crazy. "You really think that I would sit around and watch someone do that to themselves?"

            Kurt laughed cruelly. It was like every single drop of pain inside of him was being released now. He was yelling at Aaron for not being the person he needed, yelling at Blaine for doing this, yelling at himself for being so fucking stupid. "Yes, Christian, I'm pretty sure that's  _exactly_ what you would do. Because while I was taking away everything he was using to hurt himself, you were at school and your supposed roommate slit both of his wrists and lay dying on the bathroom floor."

            Christian's fist swung at him out of nowhere, catching him straight in the nose and sending Kurt sprawling to the floor. His head smacked against the tile and stars exploded in front of his eyes. Blood sprayed from his nostrils as he propped himself up on his elbow, and wiped the back of his hand across his face. Rachel had let out a horrified scream and some of the nurses behind the receptionist desk raced to aid him.

            "Fuck," Christian whispered, eyes wide as he backed away from Kurt. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

            Kurt climbed to his feet and followed a nurse to one of the medical rooms. He paused as he passed Christian, a sick metallic taste filling his mouth. "I hope that made you feel better."

 

             "Well, Mr. Hummel, your nose isn't broken, but one of the blood vessels along the bridge burst and therefore caused that startling amount of blood. You'll have to be more careful next time. And if you and your friend start another fight in the lobby, we'll have to kick both of you out," the nurse informed him as she taped up his injury.

             _He's not my friend,_ Kurt thought bitterly. His entire face throbbed with every inhale, his nose feeling like a giant cotton ball. He wished he could lean forward and rip every hair of the nurse's bleach blonde mop off her prissy little head.

            "Stay put while I go give the paperwork to the front desk, okay?" She merrily gathered up her clipboard and winked at Kurt as she shut the door behind her.

            He ground his teeth together, frustrated. Fucking Christian. He should've been there to help Blaine. He should've  stayed with him and fixed him. He should've held his damn tongue in the waiting room and saved them both the embarrassment.

            Kurt hopped off the examination bed and paced back and forth in the tiny room. He could practically feel his life, every remaining shred of sanity dripping from his fingertips. Why did this matter so much to him? He hadn't seen Blaine in  _four years_  and then suddenly some freak appearance at a gay club had turned his perfect life around. In that moment, Kurt hated Blaine. He hated him for being so broken. He hated him for dragging Kurt down with him. He hated him for moving to New York and escaping his father but still being as damaged as that scared little seventeen year old boy.

            But then Kurt remembered all that he had shared with his ex-boyfriend. Sweet summer kisses, heated nights between the sheets, intimate hand holding under the table, chick flicks and romcoms at two o'clock in the morning, the feeling of his ice cold toes beneath the blanket, his hazel green eyes filling with tears that he could always kiss away. And Kurt knew why he loved Blaine; why some part of him still loved him, and he knew that he had to fix him even if it meant losing everything else in his life.

            He pried open the door and peered into the empty hallway. He had to find Blaine and make sure he was okay. He strode hastily down the corridor until he found an elevator. Two surgeons with cups of tea in their hands regarded him curiously when he asked where he could find the emergency rooms, but pointed to the third floor.

            It smelled thickly of burnt flesh and open wounds, Kurt observed as the elevator doors peeled open with an anticlimactic c _reak._ There was something different about this floor. No shiny red balloons or blooming flowers or get well notes tacked to various billboards. The walls were long, white and bare. The floors were all too clean. Only the faint beeping of a heart monitor sounded from a distant area.

            The first door he tried was locked and he could hear muffled shouting from within-"we're losing him! We're losing him!" He backed away, choking as he struggled to breathe.  _It's not Blaine, it's not Blaine,_  he assured himself, but his heart still pounded deafeningly in his ears.

            Blaine Anderson was in the seventh door on the left that Kurt tried. At first, he hardly recognized the small man who faded into the crisp white sheets, but then the familiar dark curls drew him in.

            He sat down by the bed, eyes fixated on the machine that charted Blaine's heartbeat in scraggly, luminescent lines. He was still alive. A bag of clear liquid was pumping the fluids into the crook of his elbow and his wrists had been wrapped in fresh bandages.   
            Kurt reached out and took Blaine's hand in his. He traced over the swell of the bandages softly, willing some sort of mythological magic to burst from his fingertips and mend the gashes underneath.

            "I'm so sorry, Blaine." Blaine's eyelashes fanned over the apples of his cheeks; so still and serene and beautiful. "I should've listened to you. I should've stayed with you so long ago. I'm so sorry."

            He bent his head as tears spilled from his eyes and his sobs filled the pressing silence. It was all his fault. Not Christian's, or Aaron's, or Mr. Anderson's, but  _his._  His very being ached with the weight of all he had done and he felt so tired of carrying it all by himself.

            Kurt stood up and peeled back the sheets of Blaine's bed. He climbed next to his ex-boyfriend, gingerly moving him aside and resting his head on his chest. The rise and fall of his rib cage was comforting. He wasn't gone yet. He was alive.

 

            Kurt closed his eyes, his tears tasting salty on his lips as he opened his mouth to sing. " _I forgot to say out loud how beautiful you really are to me_.  _I cannot be without, you're my perfect little punching bag._   _And I need you, I'm sorry. Baby, please don't leave me._ Please don't leave me." 


	11. Where Your Love Is Lost, Your Ghost Is Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to everyone who continues to read! Trigger warnings for mentions of drugs, self-harm and suicide attempts. The song featured in this chapter is Turning Tables by Adele.

_Under haunted skies I see_  
 **Where love is lost, your ghost is found**  
I've braved a hundred storms to leave you  
As hard as you try, no, I will never be knocked down

 

            It was below zero out on the frost-bitten streets of New York City, and the billowing storm of snowflakes blew so thickly that you could barely see three feet in front of you. Kurt's perfectly gelled hair was frozen, and his fingers were so swollen they looked like sausages, but he pushed on through the deserted and ice-slicked sidewalks.

            Kurt had been roaming the roads for hours. After being ushered out of Blaine's room by scowling nurses and seeing Rachel and Christian huddled up in the waiting room together, he had propelled himself outside in the blizzard, seeking the solutions to everything that had simultaneously tumbled off the tracks in his life.

            First there was Aaron. He had made it pretty clear that Kurt had royally fucked up their entire relationship. Everything that Kurt owned was still stuck back in that stupid apartment they shared. He wondered vaguely if Aaron would toss his belongings out on the street or if he would consider leaving the apartment to Kurt and moving out altogether. Some part of him still loved Aaron. He loved the security and his trepidation and the ways he was nothing like Blaine.

            And then there was the fact that Kurt hadn't shown up to school, the diner or Vogue.com in a week. He'd abandoned all of his responsibilities, all of his commitments and dedications, because he'd been so damn obsessed with seeing Blaine. He'd ignored all of Isabelle's calls, and was fairly certain she was beyond angry with him. There was no doubt in his mind that Frank had fired him, considering the amount of times he'd harassed Rachel and Santana the few times they'd shown up on time. As for all of his teachers at NYADA, they'd emailed him the several hundred assignments he'd need to make up if he had any hopes of passing the semester at the end of December.

            The torturous cold was far more welcoming than the warmth of the hospital. There, he had felt endlessly suffocated by thoughts of what Blaine had done. With the swirling snowflakes blinding him and the chill seeping through his thin layers, Kurt found himself momentarily distracted. God, how had he gotten himself into this suffocating spider web of problems?

            He knew he had to go back to the hospital eventually. He couldn't just leave Blaine alone in the hospital. What if he woke up? Kurt had to be there to comfort him, to help if he tried to do it again. The very thought of seeing Christian again made Kurt's skin crawl. That was the man who had  _lived_  with Blaine, been his best friend, and yet had been unable to stop him. His nose still ached despite the numbing sensation that had long ago graced over his face.

            He pushed forward into the wind, biting his lip and cringing as the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to be blown away; to melt into the ground like one of the precious snowflakes and drip down into the sewers where it was clear he belonged.

 

             _"Do you want to build a snowman?"  
            Kurt looked up from his position on the couch. He was tucked under several blankets and was clutching a mug of hot cocoa between his hands. "Are you kidding me, Blaine? It's like, negative forty degrees outside. We'd freeze."_

_Blaine chuckled, crossing over and plopping down beside his boyfriend with a puppy-like excitement shimmering in his hazel eyes. "It's not that cold, Kurt. Come on. Please? We don't get snow days very often. Don't you want to take advantage of it?"_

_"I am taking advantage of it," Kurt replied smoothly, motioning to_ When Harry Met Sally  _playing on the television screen. "I'm sorry that freezing my ass off isn't my ideal snow day activity."_

_Blaine pouted. "It won't be too cold if you bundle up."_

_Kurt turned back to the T.V., shaking his head with a smirk playing on his lips. "No."_

_"Building a snowman will be fun. We can dress him up in one of my bowties."_

_"Nope."_

_"I'll rub your feet for a week everyday after school if you come outside with me."_

_"Tempting."_

_Blaine grinned widely, leaning in to block Kurt's view of the movie. "I'll let you name him Taylor Lautner."_

_Kurt wrinkled his nose, stifling a laugh at Blaine's eagerness. "Fine. But I expect a brand new pot of hot chocolate with peppermint whipped cream when we get back inside."_

_Blaine let out a happy squeal and kissed the tip of Kurt's nose. "I love you."_

_Kurt rolled his eyes. "I love you too."_

            Kurt  darted underneath a roof of one of the street-side boutiques when he felt his cell phone buzz in his pocket. The device was damp from the snow that had melted on his slacks, but he quickly dried it on his sleeve and flipped it open to answer it.

            "Santana?"

            "Kurt? Where are you? Are you okay? Please tell me you're not outside in this god awful weather right now."

            Kurt clamped a palm over his other ear in an effort to hear her over the thunderous whistling of the snowstorm. "I'm fine," he said.  
            She paused. "Oh, really? Because you don't sound fine, you actually sound like you're stuck in the middle of this fucking blizzard, gay fairy princess."      

            "Santana, I'm not in the mood," he snapped bitterly. His fingers were beginning to cramp up around his phone.

            "Frankly, I don't give a shit what you are or are not in the mood for. You need to get your prissy ass back to the hospital stat because Berry and her boy toy are having mental breakdowns and I don't know how much longer I can put up with the lovebirds before I bring out Auntie Snix."

            Kurt sighed, the exhalation resulting in a puff of white mist. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he replied before hanging up. His very being ached for all the trauma he knew he was putting Santana and Rachel through, but he just needed time to sort everything out without his two best friends questioning his every decision.

            It took Kurt approximately twenty-one minutes to find his way back to the hospital. There was a strange serenity about New York being so empty. It was like the snowfall had swept away every pedestrian and cleared away all of Kurt's doubts with them. As he stepped into the familiar hospital waiting room, he knew what he had to do.

            Rachel threw her arms around his neck upon seeing him, exhaling with relief against his throat. "You're okay," she cried.

            A smile flitted across his lips as he gently pulled away from her. "I'm okay," he repeated. "Has Blaine woken up? Do you know?"

            Santana stood up from her chair, threading her fingers through her long, ebony hair. "The receptionist refuses to tell us a _nything_ -" she glanced pointedly at the timid woman behind the front desk, "-but I think he's still unconscious."

            "Come sit with us. You look practically frozen solid." Rachel tugged at his arm.

            Christian was avoiding Kurt's gaze at all cost and Kurt wasn't too keen on revisiting their arguments with him. "I'm going to go see Blaine."

            "You can't," Rachel protested. "They won't let anyone into the I.C.U."

            "I made it in before. I can make it in again. I have to see him."

            Santana shook her head almost proudly as he made his way towards the elevator. "That's my boy."

 

            Blaine was in the same position as he had been when Kurt had last seen him. His curls glistened in the artificial light, his left arm extended over the pillow where Kurt had nestled into his side, various tubes inserted into his wrists and pumping clear liquid into his veins. He looked so peaceful and beautiful, Kurt wished he could savor this moment forever.

            There was a deafening  _bang_ as the door crashed open. "You did this."

            Kurt barely moved from his sunken position in the armchair, gaze still fixated on Blaine's motionless form. Christian had returned to taunt him again. "Haven't we already settled this or was that punch not enough?" he spat before turning to face the intruder. His breath caught in his throat as he recognized the man at the door. The chiseled features, the swoop of dark hair, the gorgeous eyes now glinting with a foreign ferocity. "Cooper."

            "You did this to him, didn't you?" Cooper inched around the perimeter of the room, purposefully keeping far away from Kurt like he was some sort of despicable insect he had found in his bathroom.

            "Cooper, n-no, no I didn't do anything," he croaked. His hands shook from where they clenched the plastic armrests of the chair. "He-Blaine did this to himself. I tried to stop it, Cooper, I tried so hard, but-"

            "You didn't fucking try hard enough, Kurt," Cooper growled, glaring icily at him as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Blaine's head. "I know that you left him. I  _know_  what happened. I know because he called me that night and went on and on while he fucking cried his eyes out because you  _left_  him, Kurt. You left him alone with our bastard of a father.  _You_  were the reason that I didn't have to come back. Because I really thought for sure that because he found you, he would be okay for awhile." He laughed bitterly. "Looks like I was wrong, huh?"

            Kurt shook his head, Cooper's words ringing in his ears like a siren. "I thought he would be okay. I thought...that that was how Blaine was. He bounces back. I didn't think it would turn out like this. I didn't know. I'm so sorry, Cooper. If I could turn back time and fix it, I would," he whispered. The beeping of the monitor beside Blaine's bed ticked like a metronome. "But I can't."

            "You're right. You can't. You fucked up and atleast you know that you can't fix it. Which is almost surprising in itself because you've always been so fucking hardheaded." Cooper crossed over to Kurt, towering over him with his arms curled around his chest menacingly.

            "Where were  _you?"_ Kurt asked. "Where were you when Blaine was shooting himself up with drugs and dancing around town with every available gay man and drinking away all of his problems until his memory dissolved? I didn't know he was here and you did. What's your excuse?"

            "Because I thought he was okay, Kurt! I have called him once a week for the past four years of my life to make sure that he's been okay and he's always sounded fine. Always gone on about how great life in New York was. There was nobody to call me and tell me that he was hurting behind the scenes. Because I, like you, thought he might bounce back!" He was pacing back and forth, waving his arms animatedly. "And why the  _fuck_ didn't you call me when he was put in here? Why did I have to hear it from his roommate who I didn't even know existed?"

            "No.  _No,_ " Kurt snarled, climbing to his feet. "You do not get to push this all on me. I'm sorry that you were the last thing on my mind while I was trying to save my ex-boyfriend. I'm sorry that I forgot to ring you up all cheerily and tell you that your little brother is a drug-addicted whore. Now, wouldn't that be a merry conversation between old friends? Oh, hi Cooper, so I just met your brother at the local gay club but he was so drunk off his ass that he didn't remember me. And did I mention that I also found him sleeping in his freezing English classroom? Don't forget about the fact that he cuts himself. It was so great catching up with you!" Kurt hissed.

            "Yes, I did expect you to have done that! If he wasn't going to tell me everything than maybe you should have been fucking smart enough to do it yourself! But no, it all has to be about you. You have to go around and try and fix everyone even when you can't," Cooper snarled, leaning over Kurt slightly. "He's my fucking brother."

            Kurt threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. "He was my fucking boyfriend! I was the one who was in love with him, I was the one who held him when he cried and kissed away his tears, I was the one who gave a shit about him when he came to me with a black eye. Cooper, you fucking left him alone with that monster. I tried to get him to go for help, I tried to tell others, but he was so damn prideful that he wouldn't let me. I had to leave him because he was drowning himself and every second with him was  _killing_  me." He sat back down, defeated. "It's still killing me."

            "But you weren't there to kiss away his tears when he really needed you. He broke his wrist, did you know that? The day you broke up with him he went home crying and Dad saw him and dragged him to the kitchen and beat the fucking shit out of him. I flew home and took Blaine to the hospital myself. He  _knew_ I had to go. He told me I shouldn't stay behind to look after him, that I shouldn't sacrifice my life for him. And he said he hated you. He hated you so much because you just left him there feeling so fucking useless and alone and he  _hated_ you for it!" Cooper's voice was growing with every passing moment, his fingers twisting into his perfect coif.

            "I can't change what I did, Cooper and I'll regret that day for the rest of my life. I tried to save him then and I'm still trying to save him now. Don't you see that, Cooper? Don't you see that I care?" Kurt's voice cracked and he lowered his eyes to the floor. "I'm sorry that I didn't try harder back then."

            "You're trying to put a bandaid on a bullet wound, Kurt."

            "Maybe I am. You know what? I can't save everybody and maybe I can't save anybody, but I can't stop trying. I won't give up on him, Cooper, not even if he sucks every damn shred of life out of me. I love Blaine and I know that everything is my fault, but that's exactly the reason why I can't leave him again," he exclaimed, thick tears rolling down his cheeks.

            "Just...don't let him down again," Cooper said. There was something in those baby blue eyes of his. Forgiveness? Pity? Desperation? Before Kurt could figure it out, Cooper was out the door with the lock clicking shut behind him.

 

            Kurt wiped his face on the back of his hand and reached across the expanse of the bed for Blaine. His fingers tightened around the curly-haired man's and he dropped his head down onto the mattress. "Every word of that was true, you know," Kurt murmured. "Every word." 


	12. So Let Me Save You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song used is Trading Mistakes by Panic! At the Disco. Enjoy!

Placing a smile at the perfect event,

Gracing your skin with the side of my hand,

If I ever leave, I could learn to miss you.

But "Senti mental Boy" is my nom de plume.

**So let me save you,**

Hold this rope.

Kurt Hummel had never understood the way the world worked. Even when every nerve in his body ached to remain in bed and his head throbbed when he walked down the street in the frosty air and his palms were covered in purple crescents from where his fingernails bit into the skin and his heart had been shattered so many times he wasn't even sure he still had one, everything continued to go on around him like nothing was wrong.

            Kurt went to school every morning and pretended to pay attention during the lectures and worked afternoon shifts at Vogue.com and then joined Rachel for late night shifts at the diner. And then he would return home to his cold, lonely, empty apartment and curl up alone in his bed with his thoughts.

            Aaron had moved out, taking only his personal belongings and leaving everything they had shared to Kurt. It'd been two weeks since their nasty fight and the box of Blaine's things was still lying untouched on the kitchen counter top. The sight of it made Kurt's stomach churn, but he couldn't bear to throw it out.

            Exactly nine days after Blaine had been admitted into the hospital, nine days of Styrofoam coffee cups and sleepless nights spent in the waiting room's plastic chairs, he had awoken from his coma. Kurt had been dozing in the chair next to the bed, their fingers loosely intertwined across the crisp bed sheets, when the monitor beside them began beeping wildly. Blaine had jerked upward, his eyes flying open and his body twitching uncontrollably.

            Kurt had cried out for help, backing against the wall and watching as his ex-boyfriend's body convulsed in a terrifying seizure. Nurses and doctors had ushered him out of the room, slamming the door and leaving Kurt trembling in the hallway.

            He had been allowed to visit again a couple hours later after Blaine's vitals had been stabilized. Christian had beat him there of course, standing faithfully by his friend like a loyal puppy. Blaine stopped mid-sentence when he saw who had entered his room, his knuckles turning white as they gripped the metal assistance bars.

            "What's he doing here?" he hissed to Christian, body rigid. "I want him out. I want him to leave."

            Kurt stepped forward, his hands reaching out almost tentatively. "Blaine...It's me."

            Blaine's gaze narrowed. "I can see that," he snarled. He writhed in the constraining bed frame, trying to get as far away from Kurt as possible. "Don't touch me. I want him out. Christian, I want him out."

            Kurt just shook his head, inching closer and ignoring the way Christian tensed. "Please, Blaine, don't do this. I've been here everyday, waiting for you to wake up, I just-"

            "Get out!" Blaine screamed. There was a panicked, wild glare in his eye as he began to thrash, kicking his feet up and his arms waving from side to side. "Get out!" The monitor's high-pitched beeping began to speed up and the tubes feeding into his arms started to rip from the bandages.

            "Stop, stop!" Christian raced to his side and pinned Blaine down into the mattress. "Stop it, you'll hurt yourself!"

            "Make him go away, please." Blaine's voice was raw and anguished as he struggled beneath Christian's hold.

            "Kurt, you need to go," Christian said stonily, his back to Kurt still.

            "No, I-"

            "Kurt,  _go._ "

            Kurt stumbled backward, a choked sob bursting from his throat. He'd just been trying to help. That's all he ever wanted to do. Every single fucking thing that he touched broke beneath his fingers. He tainted the good, destroyed the perfect, took advantage of the giving, soiled the pure.

            Rachel had found him curled up with his head in his hands in the middle of the hallway. After being taken home and crying his heart out for a good twenty-four hours, Kurt came to a realization. No matter how much it hurt to see Blaine reject him, or the pain in his chest upon seeing the box on the counter, or the guilt that drowned him in every recurring nightmare he had featuring Blaine's terrified face, Kurt had to get himself out of the damned ditch he'd fell into. He would climb out with dried tears and bloodied nails, but he was Kurt Hummel and Kurt Hummel survived.

            So Kurt showered and went to work and fell back into his painfully boring routine free of frequent hospital visits. But normal is good, he told himself. Normal is good.

 

            Christmas shopping easily became Kurt's least favorite activity. Rachel, as kind and thoughtful as she was, made it her personal duty to drag Kurt to every department store within the surrounding four blocks while she searched for the perfect Christmas present for Christian. "It has to be something meaningful," she had explained, "something expensive but not expensive enough to look like I'm trying to buy his love. We've been in a relationship for three weeks now and I think that's serious enough for more than a rose-scented candle, don't you think?"

            Kurt stifled a yawn from his position in one of the weather-beaten flea market chairs lined up in the eleventh consecutive store they'd gone to. "Sure," he supplied in monotone.

            Santana was rifling through a box of five dollar thongs, one hand on her hip as she pulled out an extra large hot pink piece of fabric. "Get him a box of condoms. Or some beef jerky. Guys like things that involve sex and meat."

            Rachel rolled her eyes. "Christian's not like that, Santana. He hasn't tried to get into my pants once."

            "That probably means he's either gay or you're one of his many polygamous girlfriends and he's getting the V from someone else," she replied matter-of-factly.

            "Santana!" Rachel screeched. "He-"

            Kurt tuned them out, dropping his chin into his hand with a bored sigh. He hadn't seen Blaine-or Christian-for over two weeks, but he was still obnoxiously updated by Rachel of everything they were doing. Apparently, Blaine had returned to their apartment only a week ago and was on strict suicide watch. Christian had made him drop out of school for the time being and he had taken a temporary leave from work to spend more time with Blaine and Rachel. They were still going strong in their ever-budding relationship and Kurt liked to think  he was happy for Rachel, but the thought of her being able to see Blaine everyday made his skin prickle with jealousy.

            As if his ordinary routine wasn't bad enough, everything around him was becoming more and more enthusiastic about the approaching holiday of Christmas, which was only five days away. Everywhere he went, there were merry charity workers ringing bells, and festive lights hanging from every rooftop, and fat old men dressed as Santa followed by a line of happy children. It didn't seem fair that everyone else could be so carelessly excited about the occasion when Kurt wasn't even excited about eating cheesecake anymore.

            He got up robotically from his seat and paced around the crowded shop. He couldn't stand listening to them argue anymore. Kurt stopped in front of a glamorous wooden vanity stacked with various cheap perfumes and beaded jewelry. The mirror was spotted with dust and filth, but Kurt could still see his blemished reflection underneath.

            His nose was still a sickly green from when Christian had broken it. It was comical, really, how his experience with Blaine had both begun and ended with a broken nose.

 

             _He heard the familiar click of the key turning in the lock followed by the creaking of the front door. Kurt grinned, butterflies swirling around in the pit of his stomach. Blaine was back. "How was your visit home?" he asked, flipping through the latest issue of Vogue. He was lying on his stomach across his bed, feet in the air kicking back and forth leisurely._

_Blaine set his bag down on his side of the room, ducking into the bathroom with a muffled, "Good."_

_Kurt frowned sitting up to watch as his newfound boyfriend flicked on the light and bent over the sink. "Blaine? Are you alright?"_

_There was a pause as the sound of rushing water filled the silence. "Yeah."_

_Kurt got up and stalked over to the bathroom. Blaine's bare back glistened with sweat, his shoulder muscles working as he scrubbed. He leaned against the doorframe, watching as Blaine rinsed his shirt with the water. It was wrinkled and stained with-was that blood? "Oh, my god, Blaine, what happened? Did you get into a fight? Come on, we have to get you to the infirmary."_

_Blaine stumbled away, his hand flying away from his nose and revealing a white bandage taped over his swollen nose. Both eyes were shadowed with the beginnings of a black eye and his hair was messy, curls sprung free from the helmet of gel. There was a stream of dried blood leading from his throat to the center of his chest. "I'm fine, Kurt, I'm fine," he insisted._

_Kurt grabbed one of the Dalton washcloths and dampened it with warm water. He led Blaine to sit on the porcelain toilet seat and dabbed at the dried blood on his neck. "Was it David? Thad? Who did this to you?"_

_Blaine pressed his lips together, his eyes flitting about the room in an attempt to avoid Kurt's gaze. "Nobody. I ran into a pole."_

_Kurt snorted. "Hold this," he instructed. His heart was thumping loudly in his ears. There was something about the way Blaine looked now that scared Kurt. "You don't have to tell me what happened...I just want to make sure you're going to be okay."_

_Blaine's bottom lip trembled when his eyes finally met Kurt's. "I-I didn't want you to know," he whispered._

_"Know what?" Kurt said softly. He placed his hands tentatively on Blaine's thighs. They'd been together for barely a month and touching Blaine still sent sparks up Kurt's fingertips. They had just started cuddling together in the evenings after lights out, when the darkness of night offered the security of each other's arms. There were many benefits to sharing a dorm room at Dalton Academy._

_Tears fell from Blaine's dark lashes, cascading down his flushed cheeks and blending with the blood on the tile floor. "About my father."_

_Kurt wasn't sure what to do. He'd never seen Blaine look so wrecked and helpless. "What about him?" He scooted closer, squeezing his legs reassuringly. When Blaine didn't respond, Kurt's breath caught in his throat. "Did...did he do this to you, Blaine?"_

_Blaine nodded once. A small wail escaped Kurt's throat. His vision blurred and his hands began to shake. His father did this to him. Blaine's father broke his nose. How was he supposed to deal with this? How was he supposed to help Blaine? Was it an accident? Did he do this often? How could Kurt not have noticed?_

_And then everything made sense. The scars on Blaine's hip that he had brushed off as a childhood incident, the bruises that lined his back that he always chalked up to boxing, the way he carefully avoided talking about his dad. God, Kurt had been so naïve._

_"Blaine, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," he murmured because it was the only thing he could think of to say._

_"It's okay. I'll deal with it." His expression hardened and he stood up to return to the sink. He used a wad of toilet paper to wipe along his mouth and grimaced at his reflection._

_"Have you tried talking to someone? The police? A counselor? Your mother?" Kurt wanted to know._

_Blaine emitted a harsh, cold laugh as he began to mop up the blood from the sink counter. "My mother's gone. And the police can't help, they'll just make things worse."_

_Kurt climbed to his feet, his knees feeling like jelly as he wobbled over to his boyfriend. "Have you tried? They'll take him away, make him stop hurting you-"_

_Blaine whirled around angrily. "Kurt, just stop! Nobody can help me. I've been dealing with this since I was nine and I can deal with it for three more years until I can get the hell out of here." He winced at Kurt's broken expression and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. "I'm sorry, it's just...you're the first person I've told about this."_

_Kurt pulled away. He wanted nothing more than to fix Blaine. It wasn't fair that he was being tortured at home when he deserved only the best. It wasn't fair at all. "You can come stay with me. My dad won't mind."_

_Blaine's lips twitched up in a small smile. "I love the way you want to make everything better and I'm sorry I dragged you into all of this but...But this is something I have to take care of on my own. I'll be alright. I'll be better than alright now that I have you." He kissed Kurt lightly, the salt from his tears remaining on Kurt's tongue even when he pulled away._

            "Kurt? Are you listening to me?"

            Kurt shook the memory from his head, turning to face Rachel who was holding up two Christmas dresses. "Sorry. What?"

            "I asked you which one you think I should wear."

            "Oh, right." He paused. "To what?"

            Rachel sighed, exasperated. "God, Kurt, I just explained this to you. The Christmas Eve party I'm throwing?"

            Kurt nodded like he had a clue what she was talking about, and pointed to the dress on the left. "Go with red. It flatters your complexion." As Rachel scurried over to the cashier with her new gown in hand, Kurt collapsed back into his chair with his thoughts spinning wildly.

            A Christmas Eve party meant that Rachel would no doubt invite her boyfriend which meant there was a possibility Christian would bring Blaine. Surely he wasn't stupid enough to leave him home alone for a few hours with the suicide watch. Kurt clasped his hands together to keep from quivering. He might see Blaine again.


	13. I Think Maybe I'm Just Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for attempted suicide. I had such horrible writer's block with this chapter, so I'm just going to apologize in advance for the mess you're about to read. Of course, thanks again to everyone who continues to read! The song this week is Villain by Hedley. Enjoy!

_It's darker and much harder to be me  
So far away from my reality_

_I hate the way you look, I'm looking back_  
I hate the way I look, you're looking too  
 **I think maybe I'm just falling** , falling, falling

 

Rachel told him he was depressed and offered to book him an audition spot for the NYADA spring production. Santana told him he needed to get over his boy-toy and gave him a free year-round pass to Babylon. His dad told him that he needed to find something to distract him and bought a ticket to fly out at the end of January. Isabelle told him that his wardrobe was bringing him down and gave him a tiger broach to match his hippo.

            So, Kurt got a cat. He had never really been a cat person, or a dog person for that matter-they shed hair all over his designer clothes-but his thoughts had become much too loud for the constant quiet of his lonesome apartment. She was a dark grey Persian with matted fur and amber yellow eyes that burned with the fires of hell. He'd bought her at the local pound for eleven dollars and sixty-seven cents, and then purchased a sparkly pink collar at the drug store, which the cat later ate. Her name was Rizzo, because of her raspy and quite terrifying meow.

            Eleven hours later, after his already weather-beaten couch had been torn up and his window sill had been pissed on several times, Kurt realized he'd made a drastic mistake. He couldn't leave his apartment for more than a couple hours or else the cat would begin screeching out it's horrible meow and the neighbors would ask who was participating in an exorcism next door. And yet, there was something about Rizzo, the way she'd been rejected so many times and reduced to a half-bald piece of shit but still managed to walk around like a fucking lioness, that compelled him to keep her. Of course the damned thing didn't keep his mind off Blaine, but at least it drowned out the majority of his thoughts.

            On December twenty-second, two measly days after he'd brought Rizzo home, she died. He'd woken up to the sound of police sirens and immediately knew something was wrong by the lack of cat cawing. She was dead on the kitchen floor, two hacked up hairballs lying across the tile.

            Kurt didn't know why or how, but suddenly he was clutching the cat's carcass to his chest at five thirty in the morning and rocking back and forth as sobs racked his body. When sunlight broke over the city skyline and painted over the darkness of his apartment, Kurt stood up with the cat still clutched in his arms, and carried it down to the alleyway outside of the apartment building to the small square patch of soil behind the garbage cans.

            After he buried Rizzo, Kurt went back to his room and climbed out on the fire escape. The metal bars were slick with ice that glistened in the early morning light, causing Kurt's sweaty palm to stick to the surface. The brisk air felt good, drying his tears and soothing his aching heart.

            He hopped up until his legs dangled over the side, the cars honking and rushing dozens of feet beneath him. It would be so simple, so easy, to just jump right over the edge and fall to the ground. Would it hurt? Would the death be instant or would his vision fade like in the movies? Would people even care? How long would it take? What position would his body hit the ground?

            Questions soared through his mind a mile a minute. He just wanted to stop feeling like he ruined everything. Why did he even care anymore? His fingers gripped the railing tightly, his heartbeat ringing through his ears and blending with the rushing of the wind. This was it. He was going to do it. Kurt could practically taste the sweet relief already.

            It was then that Rachel had burst in to his apartment and catapulted herself out through the window. She'd pulled him backward off the rail and they'd both fallen onto the snow-dusted metal with a  _clang!_

            "What were you thinking? What the fuck were you thinking?" Rachel screamed. She was trembling violently against him.

            "I'm sorry," he whispered, tears racing down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry."

            They sat there for a while, Kurt with his head in her lap and Rachel threading her fingers through his hair. Even when thick snowflakes cascaded down from the stony sky and Kurt's toes became so numb and swollen they looked like sausages, they held their position.

            "Why'd you want to do it?" Rachel's voice was thin, frail, hurt.

            "My cat died," Kurt replied. It was so stupid, such a dumb reason.

            "Things are going to get better, Kurt, I promise."

            Kurt just nodded. Those were the same words that'd he'd been told over a thousand times during his life. If it hadn't gotten better then and it wasn't getting better now, then when was it going to get better?

            He laid in bed all day on Thursday, calling into Vogue and the diner for what felt like the millionth time to complain of sickness. His chest still ached to must to even bother getting up to put something on the T.V. Kurt listened to his phone ding with new messages and phone calls, watched as the position of the sun rotated throughout the somewhat clear sky gradually, and counted the dark grey wet spots that painted his ceiling. He could hear Rachel and Santana shouting through the paper thin walls of their apartment.

            "He just needs time, Santana!"

            "For fuck's sake, Rachel, he's had a month to get his shit together and yet he's still lying in bed like some too-good-for-this sad sack. We have to get him out of bed and to work before Frank really fires him."

            "He won't move, even if I do go over there."

            "Well, we have to try, don't we?"

            Minutes passed, or maybe it was hours-Kurt didn't really care-before he heard a knock at the front door. He pressed himself deeper into the mattress and squeezed his eyes shut. Darren. Chris. Isabelle. Santana. Rachel. He really didn't give a fuck who was trying to cheer him up this time.

            "Kurt?" Fucking Rachel. "Kurt, where are you? I have something for you."

            The lights flickered on as she entered his bedroom. He groaned, vision blurring at the sudden brightness.  "Get out," he hissed.

            "Sorry, no can do. Santana and I picked up a surprise for you. I think you might want to see this."

            "If it's a cheesecake, I swear to god I will throw it out the window," he snapped as he sat up. His joints ached from remaining in the same position for so long, but he forced himself to meet Rachel's eyes.

            "It's not something edible this time. Well, I guess it could be, but it's illegal to eat them here in America. Probably." She smiled awkwardly, waiting for his reaction. When his expression remained stoic, she brought her left hand out from behind her back and presented a tiny white ball of fur.

            It was a kitten. She had sea green eyes and a rose pink nose and was no bigger than his palm. Kurt's stomach knotted at the sight of the creature and he instinctively moved away. "I don't want it. I already had a cat."

            Rachel frowned, pushing the mewing thing closer to him. "Rizzo's gone, Kurt. This one is just a baby, I'm sure she won't die as soon as the other one. We thought it'd make you happy." She sat down beside him, tucking the cat into her lap and grabbing Kurt's hands. "You need a distraction. Maybe a kitten won't necessarily distract you from all the bad things happening, but it's a pretty good place to start. You can get out of this and pick yourself back up again, I've seen you do it before. This little kitty can be your new beginning; some motivation to pick up the shovel and dig your way back up to high ground. We believe in you."

            Rachel grabbed the kitten under it's front paws and moved it back and forth as she talked in a high pitched voice. "I believe in you, papa Kurt."

            Kurt snorted, giving in and grabbing the adorable thing from her hands. It really was quite adorable, with soft, silky snow white fur and huge, nearly Anime-ish eyes. He hugged Rachel, inhaling the comforting scent of her sugar cookie shampoo. "Thank you."

            After she left, Kurt googled names for his new pet. Snowball, Snowflake, Nevaeh, Pearl. He finally decided on Nysa, because it meant new beginning in Greek, and that's exactly what he needed. A new beginning.

 

            Kurt went to school the next day. He paid attention during his professors' lectures and went out to lunch with his improv class. He then took a make-up afternoon shift at the diner as an apology to Frank and returned home early to help Rachel prep for the party at her apartment. There was a foreign sense of happiness in the air; people screeching out Christmas carols wherever they went, flashy decorations and the constant scent of pumpkin spice floating through the atmosphere. It was obnoxiously contagious, really.

            Kurt was hanging a stream of blinking rainbow lights along the living room trim, humming along to the Barbra Streisand Christmas CD as Rachel slaved over a tray of Christmas cookies.

            "So, who do you expect will come?" he asked merrily.

            Rachel sucked a glob of red icing off her pinky finger. "Well, I invited Tristen and Tawny from the diner. There's Melissa, Anthony, Darren, Chris, Joel and Blake from school. I called Isabelle and told her to bring her troop, so Joanne and Mark will tag along with her. Ethan, Julia, Dianna, and Tomas from the theatre. And Christian, of course."

            Kurt swallowed hard, nodding. "Did Christian mention anything? About Blaine?"

            Rachel squinted at him. "Christian's acting like mother goose right now, never letting Blaine be by himself. I'm sure he'll be forced to come along too. Either that, or neither of them will attend," she answered nonchalantly.

            Kurt's skin practically crawled at the thought of seeing Blaine again. Would he run out or ignore him completely? Part of him didn't even want to find out. The hours blended together as the clock neared nine o'clock in the evening.

            He spent several long minutes ironing his brand new green shimmer tuxedo, slicking his hair back with gel, plucking his eyebrows, squeezing himself into a pair of skinny black jeans, and preparing the dish of white desert cookies he was supposed to bring.

            At last, he paused in front of the mirror at approximately nine-oh-one to give his reflection the final once over.  _Be polite_ , Kurt reminded himself.  _Even if he's there, keep your calm and be cordial._

            The first half hour of aimless chitchat was painfully boring. Rachel twirled around presenting each guest with a variety of appetizers. Santana was DJ-ing at the kitchen counter where makeshift equipment had been stacked. The lights had been turned off and the hot pink Christmas tree glimmered transfixing from the center of the room.

            Kurt kept one eye on the door as he made his way to different crowds of people. Forty-five minutes in, he began to lose hope of Blaine ever arriving and helped Santana choose tracks to play.

            At nine fifty-two, Kurt saw him. Christian walked in first, tall and proud and dressed in a crisp dress shirt. Rachel immediately threw her arms around his neck after emitting a squeal and kissed him firmly on the mouth. And then came Blaine. There were bags hanging underneath his eyes and his complexion had grown obviously pale even under  the foggy darkness of the room.  

            His breath hitched and he turned away, ducking behind Santana with the pounding of the bass matching his erratic heartbeat.  _He came, he came, he came._ He waited, twisting his sweaty fingers together, until Blaine began to make his way over to the display of drinks on the counter. It was only a matter of minutes before he'd find and consume the alcohol, Kurt knew.

            His jeans were emerald green and he wore a simple button up with a festive red cardigan. He was so fixated on the glasses that he didn't even see Kurt watching him from his position next to the refrigerator. The music was too loud, ringing defeaningly in his ears as he took a tentative step closer to his ex-boyfriend. What was he going to say? Hey, how's your recovery from drug addiction going? Hey, sorry I made you try to kill yourself. Hi, remember me?

            His feet were moving to a rhythm of their own accord as he wiggled in and out of the crowds of dancing people. He stopped behind Blaine, the sweet smell of raspberry hair gel wafting through the air. He was wearing that stupid little bowtie with tiny Christmas trees on it and Kurt's lips bent into a fond smile. Yes, this was the Blaine he had missed.    

            Blaine turned around just then after setting down his glass of champagne. His eyes fell on Kurt and the color drained from his cheeks. He struggled to form words, mouth opening and closing in shock.

 

            Kurt's throat was dry and his mouth felt like it was full of cotton. He took a deep breath and smiled. "Hi."


	14. Unarmed On The Battlefield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the advice of many reviewers, my lovely co-author and I finally individualized our summaries! My partner and I worked for six hours straight on perfecting this chapter, so hopefully all of you will enjoy this. It's a bit lighter than the other chapters we've had so far. Sorry to leave you with another cliffhanger for this week, but the suspense keeps everyone captivated. The song for this chapter is Battlefield by Lea Michele. Trigger warnings for mentions and the act of self-harm, and sexual intentions.

_Peace will come when one of us puts down the gun._   
_Be strong, for both of us,_   
_No please, don't run, don't run._   
_Eye to eye we face our fears,_   
_**Unarmed on the battlefield** _

            "Hi."

            Blaine's eyes flashed dangerously as he took a step back. "What're you doing here?"

             "Rachel...Rachel invited me. She's kind of my best friend," he replied simply. Kurt swallowed hard. No, he wasn't going to let Blaine slip through his fingers this time. "Can we-can we talk somewhere private? It's loud in here."

            Blaine fidgeted, uncomfortable beneath Kurt's gaze. "Why?" he asked stiffly. "I thought you were in Ohio, that's the only reason I came here."

            "I...I'm going after New Year's." He sounded like a fucking idiot, stumbling over his words between anxiously gnawing the inside of his cheek. "Please can we just go to my apartment? It's right next door. I need to talk to you."

            "Fine."

            For a moment, Kurt wasn't quite sure he'd heard Blaine correctly. He thought he would have to get down on his knees and beg for him to come. After the fiasco at the hospital, Kurt was certain Blaine would scream at the idea of being alone with him again.

            Kurt made a beeline for the front door, weaving in and out of dancing and chatting half-drunk guests who were screeching out the chorus to  _Jingle Bells._ The silence of the hallway soothed his bleeding eardrums as he fumbled with the key to his room. He opened the door for Blaine awkwardly, holding his breath as he slipped under his arm and into the kitchen.

            Blaine glanced around with an uninterested glare before his gaze settled on Kurt and he shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his chest. "Talk. What do you have to say? Before I change my mind."

            Kurt motioned to the weather-beaten couch. "Sit. Um, please." Blaine didn't even blink as he plopped down on top of one of the cushions and inched as far away from Kurt as possible. He cleared his throat. "So how are you? It's been...a while since we've seen each other."

            "I'm  _fine,_ " Blaine snapped. "Get to the point, Kurt. You said this would be quick."

            Carefully, Kurt fell onto the seat beside Blaine, clasping his hands in his lap and forcing himself to make eye contact with the man he once loved. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything I've done over the past couple weeks-for everything I've ever done-and I wish more than anything that I could take it all back." He paused, waiting for the words to sink in but Blaine's expression remained stoic. "I want us to be friends. I want to be here for you in a different way than I was before."

            Blaine's nostrils flared as a sudden wave of anger washed over his features. "We tried being ‘friends' and you went and fucked me up. You ruined  _everything_ ," he scoffed. Kurt flinched at the harsh words as Blaine got up and began pacing back and forth. Suddenly, he froze and Kurt's heart stopped when he realized exactly what Blaine was looking at.

            He darted to the kitchen counter and snatched up the decorative little box Kurt had taken from Blaine's room. Kurt's feet moved to a speed of their own accord and he dashed to grab Blaine's arm. He jerked away, stumbling into the bar stool and clutching the box to his stomach.

            "Don't fucking touch me!  _You_ did this. And you had no right to take this! It's  _mine,_ not yours. You don't get to dictate what I can and cannot own, Kurt!" he shouted.

            Kurt just kept shaking his head almost robotically, his lips struggling to form the words he needed so desperately to say. "No. No, no, no," he repeated over and over. This couldn't be happening. "You don't understand, Blaine, I was trying to _help_  you. You were  _hurting_  yourself, what was I supposed to do? Stand by and watch it happen? Because I already tried that and now's everything's fucked up."  

            "Everything's fucked up because  _you_  fucked it up! I understand perfectly fine, you  _stole_ from me. You stole my property! Who gives a damn what I was doing to myself? I certainly don't, and you shouldn't either. You left that behind when you left  _me_ behind!" Blaine ripped his arm away, his cheeks flushed with ferocity. He was backtracking towards the door, tucking that damned box under his armpit and daring Kurt to get it back.

            Kurt was choking back tears, stumbling forward and wrenching Blaine toward him. "Listen to me!" he yelled. "You don't think I fucking know that? I've beaten myself up, endured dozens of sleepless nights trying to figure out how to fix this, but you won't even give me the fucking chance. How are you supposed to get better if you won't let someone in? It  _kills_ me to see you like this, Blaine. I was in love with you. There's not a single bone in my body that doesn't ache to help you. Maybe everything I've tried has turned to shit so far but...I can't lose you and I won't stop trying until that fear is gone."

             "You're the one who doesn't understand! I haven't slept properly since you walked away from me. I haven't been able to breathe and be happy since that stupid fucking day in the parking lot where  _you_ told me I wasn't strong enough!" Blaine's voice broke and his shoulder slumped in defeat. "I wasn't strong enough. I wasn't good enough for you and it fucking killed me." The beautiful little box that held so many things, so many weapons and memories, clattered to the ground. Sparkling glass shards spilled across the tile, glimmering in rainbows where they caught the light."You're the one who doesn't understand, Kurt. You  _loved_ me. I still  _love_  you and it fucking sucks."

            Tears cascaded down Blaine's cheekbones and his eyelashes fluttered an attempt to blink them back. Kurt dropped to the ground. His heart hurt so much that he was sure it was going to burst. He carefully picked up the pictures, covering his mouth with his other hand as a sob bubbled up over his lips. He looked back up at Blaine and smiled softly. "Don't you see, you fucking idiot? I still love you, too."

            Blaine fell to his knees, his chest heaving as he struggled to process Kurt's words. And then Kurt's arms wrapped around Blaine's shuddering shoulders and they were lying on the cold kitchen floor with nothing but time stopped around them. Kurt's skin sparked where they touched and his stomach was knotting in the glorious ways he hadn't experienced since high school.

            He bent his head to inhale the sweet, familiar scent of  _Blaine_  through his dark tendrils. This was where he belonged; intertwined in the arms of the man he loved the most. "We're going to get through this," he murmured. "Just like we've gotten through everything else-together." A beat passed as he listened to the deafening pulse of the music from next door. "Do you remember the Hello Kitty band-aid?" Kurt grinned as he felt Blaine emit a chuckle against him.

             _Kurt had started attending McKinley again because as much as he hated to admit it, Rachel's obnoxious self-centered lectures were nothing to match Wes and David's pithy mid-practice banters. He loved being able to wear his iconic fashion once again and leave the crisp Dalton uniform to the back of his closet. The only thing he missed other than the horrible Neanderthals that still roamed the McKinley hallways, was being able to see Blaine every day._

_They met up every Wednesday for coffee at the Lima Bean and visited on weekends as much as they could, but seeing each other ‘occasionally' just wasn't enough for two hormonal teenage boys. So, Kurt decided to drive up to Westerville over spring break to surprise his boyfriend, who was stuck at home and drowning in his studies for end-of-semester exams._

_Kurt was humming the theme song to_ Happy Days _when he pulled up into the Andersons' drive way. Fate was playing on his side today, he noted at the absence of Mr. Anderson's car. Blaine had always carefully synchronized their get togethers with one of his dad's business trips or eight hour meetings, when it was certain he wouldn't return home to see them. Kurt still tried to convince Blaine to get help now and then, but it was no use. Blaine was independent and courageous and thought he could deal with it on his own._

_He knocked on the front door impatiently. Once. Twice. Four times. "Blaine!" he called up, hoping he could hear him through his window just like in all of his favorite rom-coms. "Blaine, it's me!"_

_There was no reply. Tentatively, Kurt's palm closed around the cool metal of the front door knob and he twisted it open. Blaine's house was warm and inviting as always, furnished cleanly and simply in ways that only a house full of style-oblivious men could pull off._

_He made his way up the stairs and entered Blaine's room. His bed was perfectly made, and the room was dim with faint lamp light. Kurt flopped down on the bed upon seeing the bathroom door closed and held up one of Blaine's pillows to his face. He smelled so good, like mint gum and expensive cologne and comfort._

_Abruptly, Kurt sat up at the sound of sniffles coming from the bathroom. Gently, he rapped on the door. "Blaine? Are you in there? It's me, Kurt." Something clattered to the floor. "You okay?"_

_"I-I. Yes. I'll be out in a minute. Just..."_

_He jiggled the door knob again. There was something in Blaine's voice that set off sirens in Kurt's head. "Let me in. What're you doing? Blaine?" He pushed urgently against the frame._

_It swung open and Blaine stood there. His eyes were swollen and red, his bottom lip split and his hands shaking by his sides. Kurt reached forward and grabbed his wrist. Keeping his eyes on Blaine's, he pried open his closed fist and revealed a razor._

_Kurt looked away, tears burning and his chest constricting painfully. "Blaine-"_

_"I didn't do it. I was going to but-" He choked, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow as sobs racked his body. Kurt took him into his arms and held him while he convulsed._

_"It's okay, it's okay. I'm here. I love you. I'm here." He just kept repeating those words until they tasted like acid on his tongue and they were laying on the downy carpet. "Don't ever do this to yourself. Please. You can get past this. This is a_ moment  _in your life, not your entire life. Do you hear me?"_

_Blaine only nodded. Kurt's entire shirt was damp. "Where does it hurt, baby?" he asked quietly._

_Blaine sat up and pointed to his heart. Kurt struggled to plaster a smile onto his lips as he reached for his backpack. "I have just the thing." He produced a thin paper package and unwrapped it to reveal a pink band-aid. "Hello Kitty," he adlibbed, "I hope you don't mind."_

_Slowly, he lifted up Blaine's shirt and splayed his fingers across Blaine's upper chest. His heart beat rapidly beneath the heated flesh as Kurt leaned closer and pressed the bandage directly over his heart._

_He then leaned down and tenderly kissed the plastic of the band-aid, tasting the salt of Blaine's sweat on his lips. "I can't promise to fix everything, Blaine. But I can promise to do everything in my power to make it better."_

_Blaine's bottom lip trembled. "You already have."_

            "How could I forget? I left that stupid thing on for the rest of the week because it made me feel like I mattered. Until I tore out resurfacing chest hairs taking it off, then it didn't feel so nice." Blaine's laugh split through the way and Kurt soon found himself laughing along. This was what he had missed more than anything. It was so easy to fall back into the simple routine of being  _them._

"Do you remember the crummy corner store?" Blaine continued.

            Kurt felt his cheeks heat up and he instinctively ducked his head even though he knew Blaine couldn't see his face. "Oh, my god." His breath caught in his throat as the memories resurfaced. "I think I remember it  _too_ well."

            "You can never remember sexy, gross department store dirty talk too well," Blaine remarked. His grip on Kurt's waist tightened and he pressed his ear to Kurt's thumping heart.

            Their laughter gradually died away and Kurt shifted as the weight of reality settled in on him. "I miss this. I miss  _us._ I miss you. Even if you did crack an egg on my head back during senior year."

            "I never ended up getting that flour out of my polo, if that makes you happy."

 

             _"Tell me again why_ we _have to be the ones to make the cupcakes for the glee club bake sale?"_

_Kurt sighed exaggeratedly, cracking an egg on the rim of the bowl and glancing sideways at Blaine who was daintily frosting the first batch of still-warm cupcakes. "Because Puck baked drugs into them last time he was in charge, Brittany can't follow cooking directions-or any directions for that matter, Rachel says the sight of sugar makes her gain weight, Quinn would forget, Tina started crying when I asked and Artie is in charge of bringing lemonade," he explained._

_"Ah, yes," Blaine said, "that makes so much sense."_

_Kurt rolled his eyes. "Or maybe it's because I just like baking."_

_Blaine smirked. "You know, instead of making cupcakes we could be making out."_

_"And instead of going to Nationals, we could be cleaning out the glee club room and prepping it for Sue's cheerleading trophy case," Kurt retorted smoothly._

_Blaine frowned. "When you invited me over for a ‘fun afternoon', I did not envision this."_

_"I'm sorry that my commitment to the glee club is so straining on your schedule, Blaine Anderson."_

_Kurt went back to stirring the ingredients, glancing now and then at the oven timer for the currently cooking second batch of cupcakes. Suddenly, there was a hard smack on the top of his head followed by the chilling sensation of liquid running down his temples and the back of his neck._

_Shoulders arched and hands up in defense, Kurt hissed, "What. The. Fuck?"_

_Blaine was laughing hysterically against the counter top, with sticky egg yolk coating his hand. Kurt was seething. There were bits of egg shell in his hair and a horrible, pungent yolk slipping down onto his designer apron. He began to wail as he caught sight of his reflection in the window._

_"Kurt," Blaine gasped between giggles. "Calm down, it's just an egg."_

_"Do you know how long this is going to take, you fucking asshole? I'm going to have to use a lukewarm wash cloth to dab this fucking egg out of my hair, after plucking the egg shell out with tweezers, and then use a rinse-and-repeat cycle at least four times with nutrients enriched and color-safe conditioner. And that's just my_ hair-"

             _Blaine stepped forward, his nose bumping Kurt's as he stared deeply into his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "It was just a joke."_

_Kurt cringed. "It wasn't very nice."_

_Blaine shrugged. "It wasn't very nice of you to drag me out here to do your dirty work of icing cupcakes."_

_"Oh, yes, of course. I sincerely apologize for dragging you away from your climbing stack of homework to add some pink frosting to a few pastries that your boyfriend-half naked boyfriend, I might add-has baked for the good of others. Jesus Christ, Blaine," Kurt cried._

_He turned around and began to busy himself with cleaning up the counter. Blaine rested his hands on Kurt's hips and kissed his neck softly. "Please don't be mad. I really am sorry."_

_"Are you?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Really?"_

_"Really, really."_

_Kurt hummed his approval, fidgeting with the bag of flour. "Well, I guess you wouldn't mind if I did this-" He whirled around, flicking a handful of the white powder all over Blaine's red polo._

_He let out a squeal of surprise and looked down at his speckled shirt. "Kurt!" he exclaimed in horror._

_Kurt snickered and stuck out his tongue playfully. "That's how much I love you. I forgave you for ruining my perfect coif."_

_Blaine was shaking his head back and forth. "Oh, you called for it, Kurt," he teased. "I think this calls for extreme measures." He began to slither towards the can of hot pink frosting to the left, wiggling his fingers mischievously._

_"Blaine Devon Anderson, don't you dare. That artificial dye will_ not  _come out and I ordered this apron specially tailored from India," Kurt warned._

_"Oh, did you? What a waste it's going to be. You really shouldn't have done that."_

_"You started it, you sly motherfucker! You cracked the egg on my head, all I did was throw easily removed flour at you!"Kurt yelled, darting around to avoid his boyfriend._

_Blaine was full-on beaming. "Come at me, bro."_

_"Blaine, no."_

_"You can run, but you can't hide!"_

_"Blaine, I swear to god."_

_"Kurt, I am your fatha."_

_"BLAINE!"_

_The huge glob of icing sailed across the kitchen, almost moving in slow motion past the chandelier and crossing directly toward Burt Hummel, who was fumbling with two beers in front of the refridgerator._

_"Mr. Hummel-" Blaine called out, but the frosting hit him square in the neck. He spluttered, the beers crashing to the floor as he spun around with a wild glare only an angry father could pull off._

_"What the hell?" he growled._

_"Oh, my god. Mr. Hummel, sir, I am so sorry. I didn't mean to throw it-"_

_Burt gave the boys the once-over, roaming over the egg on Kurt's head and the flour on Blaine's shirt. He exhaled slowly. "Don't lie, Blaine, of course you meant to throw it. I know what's going on in here, I've seen my share of romantic comedies. You boys just make sure to clean up when you're done, got it? And Blaine, you owe me two new beers."_

_He resisted saluting him. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry again, Mr. Hummel."_

_He shrugged as he exited the kitchen. "It's_ Burt,  _Blaine."_

 

            "My dad still resents you for getting hot pink icing on his favorite plaid button-up," Kurt said. His butt was beginning to numb from sitting in the same position for so long and he was pretty sure there was a piece of glass stuck in his left shin.

            "He had like, three of the same kind. How did he know  _that_  one was his favourite? He could have mistaken it. And besides, I did renew his beers. Do you remember the airplanes at Dalton?"

            "You were so cheesy," Kurt said. "You always were. But it was the cheesy things that made up for all the pain." They were going to have to get up soon. The night would end and Rachel and Christian would come looking and Kurt would have to return to his infinitely boring day routine and that goddamn ache in the pit of his stomach would come back. But he didn't want to think about that. He just wanted to feel Blaine's embrace, and the stickiness of his sweat-slick curls against his chin, and the adrenalin the reminiscing reminded him of.

            He caught sight of the blinking red clock on the microwave, 12:03, and promptly lurched forward. "Oh, fuck," he said. "It's Christmas."

            They stood up, Kurt's knee cracking loudly at the movements. Their eyes met once more and electricity bloomed between them, making its way straight to Kurt's heart. Blaine wrapped his arms around Kurt's neck and leaned closer until he could feel Blaine's hot breath beating against his lips. "Merry Christmas, Kurt."

            He could practically taste Blaine; almost feel the soft grace of his lips on his own. His entire being yearned to kiss him. God, he wanted nothing more. "Merry Christmas, Blaine."

            Just then, the door banged open and they leapt apart.  _Rachel really does have the worst timing,_ Kurt thought furiously before catching sight of who was standing in the doorway. Shaggy blond hair, baby blue eyes, a snow-dusted dry-cleaned grey coat, a tall and lanky frame that Kurt had studied every inch of.  

           "Kurt?"

            "Aaron?"


	15. I'd Make You Forget

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to everyone who reads and reviews/comments! The song used this chapter is Come On, Get Higher by Matt Nathanson.

_**I’d make you forget** _

_But I miss the sound of your voice,_

_The loudest thing in my head._

_And I ache to remember,_

_All the violent, sweet, perfect words that you said._

            “I’ll leave you two alone.” The warmth of Blaine’s body pressing into his side disappeared suddenly, leaving Kurt’s nerves aching in the absence, and then he was striding towards the door with slumped shoulders and flushed cheeks.

            _No, come back,_ Kurt wanted to shout. _I love you, I love you, I love you_.But Aaron’s baby blue eyes were staring hard at him, and he was gnawing his bottom lip almost angrily. Kurt clenched his fists, lowering them to his sides, and watched as Blaine shut the door without so much as a backward glance.

 

            They stood there in an awkward silence, only the pulsating rhythm of the music next door vibrating the glasses in the cupboard provided any sound. Finally, Kurt took a deep breath and forced himself to make eye contact with his ex. “What’re you doing here?”

            Aaron lowered his gaze. “I—I thought you would be at Rachel’s party. I just needed to drop by to get the last of my things. I didn’t know—I didn’t think _he_ would be here.”

            Kurt crossed his arms over his shoulders and sunk to the ground, where he busied himself with putting the glass back into Blaine’s decorative little box. “ _He_ has a name, Aaron. It’s Blaine.” Aaron wrinkled his nose. “If you need to get things, then get them. I should go back over and help them clean up.”

            Aaron didn’t move. Kurt’s stomach was twisting painfully in his gut. He’d been so close to Blaine, so close to feeling his sweet lips on his. He could remember in specific detail the exact way that Blaine’s lips had felt so long ago, like missing puzzle pieces slotting back into their rightful positions. He would taste like almond butter and coca-cola chapstick and love. Well, if love had a taste Kurt knew that it would be Blaine’s lips. He shook himself out of his haze, pricking his pointer finger on a particularly sharp shard.

            “Kurt…can I just ask one thing? Before I go?”

Kurt gathered his bearings, twisting to face Aaron from his perch on the ground. “Please make it fast. God knows what poor victim Santana’s trying to explain lesbian sex to this time.”

Aaron’s lips twitched up in a smile, but his eyes remained on the tile around Kurt’s feet. “Were you cheating on me with Blaine? While we were still…engaged?”

He froze, bent over the last string of photographs. _Of course_ he hadn’t been cheating on Aaron. No matter how much affection he’d had for Blaine, or the lack of emotion he’d fostered for Aaron, he’d never stoop as low as to act on it. But was it still cheating if Kurt had had those thoughts from time to time? He glanced up and saw shimmering tears streaking down the bridge of Aaron’s nose. What the fuck was he supposed to say? I’m sorry? I haven’t loved you in a long time and Blaine just gave me an excuse to leave you?

He cleared his throat and stood up, placing the box on the counter. “No. I would never have cheated on you, Aaron,” he said carefully.

Aaron looked like a pathetic little puppy caught in the rain. He took a tentative step forward and Kurt resisted the urge to take a step back. “What was it then? Why were you so distant and so…obsessed with him?”

“Because he’s somebody that I loved. He was my first everything and I couldn’t just leave him behind to kill himself. He was still my best friend.” _And I didn’t love you anymore._

Aaron nodded like it made sense, but his expression was distant. “Did you even want us to work? All the lies you told…You didn’t have to tell me lies, Kurt,” he murmured.

“Of course I wanted us to work. A part of me still does, but I’ve moved on. I’m sorry, Aaron, I really am.” _No, I’m not._

He reached for Kurt’s hands and Kurt had no choice but to let him take hold. His palms were clammy and his fingers were swollen from the cold. “We can _fix_ this,” he insisted. “We can’t just let the past years go to waste. I’ll forget everything; the lies, the box, Blaine. I’ll move back in and we can get married like we always planned.”

Kurt was shaking his head earnestly. Aaron was delusional. “What plans?!” he cried. “You mean the plans that _you_ made? Because I don’t remember ever contributing to them. How the fuck could you do that to me? How the fuck could you just spring a proposal on me in the place that I _work_ in front of my friends when we’d never talked about it before? That’s not a relationship, Aaron. That’s not a surprise. That’s a _horrible_ thing to do and I don’t want to be with someone who fantasizes about something that we didn’t have—we never had. We can’t fix this and I don’t want you to forget. Thank you for providing me with a safe place for my first years in New York and thank you for loving me and thank you for showing me who my heart truly belongs to. We can’t get back together and for that I am sorry.”

The tears were full-on racing down his face now and his bottom lip trembled violently. He kept moving his hands back and forth almost as if he still wanted to grab Kurt. “Please don’t do this to me. To us.” He begged.

Kurt swallowed hard and turned away from Aaron. “There is no ‘us’. Not anymore,” he replied coldly. “I think you should get your things and go.”

A sob burst from Aaron’s throat as he grabbed the final suitcase from his old bedroom. His footsteps were like thunder exploding through the hallway. He plopped the bag down in front of the door and hesitated. Kurt could hear his sniveling and the crinkle of his coat as he wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he stated simply with a shaky tone. “I still love you.”

“I know.”

There was a long pause and Kurt wished more than anything that he would just _leave._ The soft mewing of Nysa interrupted the uncomfortable quiet and the tiny kitten began pawing at Kurt’s foot. His lips broke into a grin and he bent to pick her up. She nestled against his chest, a little ball of white tufts and innocence.

“You got a cat,” Aaron noted.

“Yeah,” Kurt answered and then the front door slammed shut.

“KURT! Oh, my god, everybody, it’s Kurt! Kuuuuurt! Kurt, hey!” Rachel’s enthusiastic screeches were backed up by a chorus of drunken cheering as she wobbled toward him, a beer in hand.

            It was clear that about half of the guests had left, leaving only those who were too drunk to even call a taxi. A few of the Vogue workers were loitering in the kitchen, messing with Santana’s abandoned DJ system. Isabelle was standing on top of the bar stool and wailing out her version of _Girl on Fire,_ above the crowd of half-naked people currently cheering on Santana as she did body-shots off her own shoulder.

            Kurt caught Rachel as she stumbled. “You came,” she said with a laugh. “I was afraid…I was afraid you, like, left to Canada or something.”

            Kurt cringed and took the beer out of Rachel’s hand. “No, maple syrup and hockey aren’t really my thing. And I thought you didn’t drink beer, Rach.”

            She straightened up suddenly, bobbing excitedly on the heels of her feet as she began dragging him towards the kitchen. “I don’t because it’s, like, so not elegant and stuff but then Christian—you remember my boyfriend, right? The one with the hair?—he gave me one and I was like ‘no’, and he was like ‘yeah’, and then I drank it and I was like ‘YEAH’. Come on, you have to try one.”

            “Christ, Rachel, it’s almost two in the morning,” Kurt groaned as they rounded the corner into the hallway.

            Christian was sitting cross-legged in the middle of with floor with a deck of cards laid out in front of him. He was seemingly distressed, with his eyebrows furrowed as he bent over what appeared to be ‘Go Fish’. He perked up when he saw Rachel and eagerly motioned for her to join him.

            “Rachel, oh, my god. We were playing a game and then you left and I was sad. But now I’m happy! Do you have a whale?” Christian’s voice was abnormally high-pitched and gleeful.

            Rachel picked up her hand and rifled through it. They looked like a couple of children. Kurt stepped forward. “Hey, have either of you seen Blaine?”

            “Go Fish,” Rachel said matter-of-factly.

            “Goodness darn it,” Christian cursed, and retrieved another card.

            “Have you guys seen Blaine?” he asked again, louder this time. This sent the duo into a fit of hysterical laughter, but Kurt didn’t get the joke.

            “He left already, silly,” Rachel told him. “Like hours ago probably. Or minutes. Maybe years? I don’t remember, we were playing ‘Go Fish’. Do you have a seahorse?”

            “Go Fish.”

            Kurt raked his fingers through his hair. Blaine had left. He didn’t know when he was going to be able to see him again or if Blaine even wanted to see him at all. Had he been high? Drunk? Would he even remember the intimacy they had shared? Kurt’s head began to ache.

            “I—“ Rachel and Christian were tangled up on the ground, making horrible sucking sounds as they attempted to make out. Christian’s hands fumbled awkwardly in the fabric of Rachel’s dress, and Rachel just kept stiffly patting his head like he was a dog. “I should leave you alone.”

            Christian pulled back and beamed at Kurt. “I’ll see you later, buddy. Pal. Amigo.”

            Kurt tried not to gag. “Alrighty then.”

            “Hey, Rachel.” Christian’s gaze returned to his girlfriend who was licking a crooked stripe down his jaw line. “I want to go fish in your mouth.”

            Kurt hurried back to the living room before Christian decided he wanted to go fish in Rachel’s vagina. He struggled to shake the images out of his head and the bitter taste of bile out of his mouth.

            “SAN-TAN-A! SAN-TAN-A!” The crowd was chanting at a volume that was certainly not acceptable so early in the morning. Her shirt was lying on the ground and she was fumbling with her bra clasp while holding a jello shot in one hand.

            “Santana!” Kurt yelled above the noise. “Santana, I don’t think flashing everybody is a great idea.”

            Her face was scrunched in concentration and her eyes were dilated to the size of disks. “Why not? Don’t you want to see my b-boobs?” She nearly fell off the chair.

            “BOOBS!” the crowd screamed appreciatively.

            “No. Not in the slightest,” he quipped. “Get down before you hurt yourself!”

            “Kuuuuuuuurt,” she whined. “I wanna…I wanna…I—“

            Kurt rolled his eyes. “Okay, everyone get out!” he shouted. “Everyone please get the hell out before Santana stabs one of you with her nipples.”

            Everybody took their time wandering out of the apartment, gathering up the remains of Rachel’s snacks and drinks and calling Kurt a party-pooper on their way. By the time Kurt had closed the door and shut off the music, Rachel and Christian had moved to her bedroom and Santana was still trying to take off her bra.

            Kurt plopped down on the couch, exhausted from what had to have been the longest day of his life. Santana sat down next to him, finally giving up and putting her shirt back on. “So…Did you talk to the guy? The…Blaine?”

            He nodded reluctantly. “Yeah. Until Aaron interrupted us.”

            Santana was silent for a moment before declaring, “Whoa, what a _douche bag_.” She jabbed him in the chest with her finger. “K-Kurt I _told_ you that Aaron fellow was a _douche bag._ ”

            He smiled. “I know you did. And you were right, San.”

            Santana let out a pleased sound and curled up with her head in Kurt’s lap. He stroked through her matted, dark hair and tried to ignore the strong scent of booze wafting off her. “I was right,” she affirmed. “Merry Chrissssssstttmmaaaaassssss, Kurtie.”

            “Merry Chrisssssstttmaaaassss, to you too.” As he sat on the couch surrounded by crumpled red solo cups and broken festive lights, Kurt wondered if Blaine was having a merry Christmas of his own, wherever he may be at two in the morning. He leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the stale air wash over him and fill his mind with memories of previous events that evening.

            Sleep drifted in on him, draping around his shoulders like a warm blanket and bringing promises of sweet dreams. He began to hum a tune to himself as his consciousness slipped away.

            _“…But baby it’s cold outside.”_  


	16. I’d Find the Pieces to Make You Whole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to everyone who reads, reviews and follows every week! It means a lot to my amazing co-author and I. We darkened these chapters up a bit since the last few have been a bit too sugary sweet. But don’t worry, we have a happy ending in mind for our Klaine. The song used this chapter is Empty Handed by the incredible Lea Michele. Please enjoy!

_If you came to me empty hearted,_

_I'd bring the ocean to bring you home._

_And if you came to me empty handed,_

_**I'd find the pieces to make you whole.** _

Kurt awoke with a pounding headache and a sharp pain at the bottom of his spine. The sour taste of morning breath on his tongue and the pressure of Santana's head in his lap reminded him where he was. He sat up, gently pushing Santana to the side, and groaned as his joints cracked with disuse.

The honey-gold late morning light filtered through the blinds, drowning the crumpled red solo cups that littered the floor in a faint glow. The clock on the microwave oven blinked 10:43, December 25th.

            "Oh, right," he muttered, "it's Christmas."

            "It certainly is."

            Kurt jumped as Christian entered the room. His dark hair was sticking up in the back and his wrinkled button-down shirt stuck to his chest, damp with some form of alcohol he'd spilled the night before. He looked nothing like his usual crisp image. "You're still here."

            Christian wrinkled his nose as he moved aside a plate of rotting hors d'oeuvres and dug out a water bottle from the refrigerator. "Yeah. I spent the night. Unintentionally," he replied simply. "Will you tell Rachel that I'll call her later? I have some paperwork I have to complete at the bar."

            "On Christmas?" Kurt asked. He began scooping up the trash and tossing it in the plastic bag hung up on the book shelf.

            He crossed through the living room and grabbed his jacket off the coat rack. "Unfortunately." A beat of awkward silence passed. "Hey, did you see Blaine last night?"

            Kurt swallowed thickly. "Um, yes."

            "Was he okay?"

            "I think so."

            "Good." He swung open the door and paused in the doorway. "I'm sorry for acting like such a douche at the hospital that night. I shouldn't have-I'm not the type of guy that punches people and I'm sorry that you happened to be the only person that I've ever actually hit."

            Kurt wasn't expecting this. "My nose still hurts," he teased, and grinned at the blush that rose to Christian's cheeks. "I'm sorry, too, Christian. And I really am...glad that you took Blaine in when he needed someone."

            Christian averted his gaze. Kurt watched his Adam's apple bob nervously. "I'll see you later."

            Kurt busied himself with tidying the girls' apartment. He swept up the crumbs that were scattered across the floor, straightened the knocked over furniture, washed the dishes, threw away the half-empty bottles of champagne and vodka, and cleaned up Christian and Rachel's late night game of Go Fish. He got out two mugs and packets of herbal tea, scribbled a note saying he was next door with Advil and  _White Christmas_ to cure the hangovers, and returned to his apartment.

            The first thing he saw was Blaine's box resting on the countertop. He recalled being tangled up on the floor, his arms holding Blaine tightly to his chest and feeling only the steady thump of his heartbeat against his rib cage.  _That_ was the Blaine he'd known; the one who'd worn dorky little bowties to school every day and pranced around the stage like he owned it and ate his club sandwiches with a fork and slicked his dark curls back with raspberry hair gel. Kurt hadn't realized how much he had truly missed him until last night.

            He took a deep breath and strode past the kitchen. At least he'd gotten rid of Aaron for now. Telling his ex-fiancé how he really felt lifted a weight off his chest and soothed one of the many ulcers Kurt was sure he'd developed over the past few weeks.

            He flopped face-first down on his bed. It was so tempting to just let go and sleep away the hangover Kurt didn't remember getting. But then his phone dinged from its position amidst the sheets and he dug through the blankets until he caught sight of the familiar case.

            Kurt flipped through his missed text messages.  _Had a great time last night! Tell Rach thanks for the party-and the booze;) -Isabelle. Merry Christmas, babe! Miss u <3 -Mercedes. Love you, bud. Happy xmas! -Burt._

The screen flashed with a new message and Kurt's breath caught in his throat as he recognized Blaine's number.  _Merry Christmas again, I know we already said it last night but I feel like saying it the day of makes it seem more official. Does that make sense? I don't know, ignore me. Anyways, I hope you have a wonderful day and I hope that Aaron guy didn't fuck you up too bad. No pun intended. Sorry, this is a really long message. I guess what I'm trying to say is thank you._

Kurt was chuckling at the way he'd seemed so flustered, so adorable and genuine.  _I miss you already. Is that creepy? It probably is_.  _Sorry, have a nice Christmas, Kurt._ - _B_  Before he knew it, Kurt was pressing his face into the pillow and releasing a scream that may or may not have resembled a twelve-year-old girl's.

            He'd been through this before; he'd already experienced the pre-relationship nerves with Blaine, but still he felt giddy at the thought of seeing him again. Kurt's fingers hesitated over the key pad of his cell phone. What was he going to say? That he missed Blaine too? That he wanted Blaine to come over and make out with him?

            Kurt sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. No, he had to keep his cool. He wasn't even sure what was happening between them, but he knew for sure that neither of them were ready to commit to anything yet.

             _Merry Christmas again to you, too. Are you up for getting coffee? Counter Culture at 2. -K_  He set his phone down carefully on the nightstand and backed away from it. Oh, god, he'd been much too needy. They'd barely spent twelve hours apart and already he was asking to see him again?

            "No, no, stop over-thinking everything," Kurt chided himself as he paced back and forth. "Kurt Hummel, you're going to get your drunk ass into the shower, put on your tightest pair of jeans, and go get coffee with your high school sweetheart."

            His phone went off again and he scrambled to read the text message.  _I'd love to. I'll see you at 2. -B_

 

            It never ceased to amaze Kurt how crowded New York City was during Christmas. He pushed his way through the streets, careful to avoid the large, glistening spots of ice that threatened to knock him down and soil his pants. As the snow flurried down in huge, thick flakes and settled in his perfect coif, Kurt asked himself why the hell he'd chosen a coffee shop so far away from his apartment. Counter Culture was a quaint shop that he'd worked at during his first few months in the city, and still performed there when he longed for the spotlight. He hoped the comforting environment would take away the awkwardness.

            The bell above the front door tinkled as he stepped inside and shook the snow from his apple red overcoat. The café was mostly empty, save for an elderly couple seated in the corner and a man in a business suit typing furiously on his laptop along with the baristas who sat bored behind the latte machines.

            He zigzagged through the square oak tables furnished with plastic lilies and waited at the counter for one of the girls to notice him. Restlessly, Kurt glanced down at his phone. It was 1:53. He bounced up and down on the heel of his food giddily. He was going to see Blaine again.  _Blaine._

"Excuse me, could I get a grande non-fat mocha?" he asked the extremely unimpressed barista who only smacked her bubble gum in response. "And a medium drip," Kurt added on second thought. Blaine had always purchased his coffee order back at the Lima Bean and Kurt figured it was time to pay him back before Blaine arrived and protested.

            He grabbed the two paper cups and made his way to a weather-beaten window seat where he could clearly see the pedestrians struggling their way across the sidewalk. Kurt perched his cell on his lap so he could see if he received a text, and settled back into the seat.

            At 2:03, Kurt sipped his mocha and bobbed his head along to the static-coursed  _Merry Christmas, Darling_ that crackled through the speakers overhead. It was cold outside and taxis were probably scarce, he told himself. Blaine would be here soon.

            At 2:37, Kurt sandwiched his phone between his clammy palms and considered texting him to ask if he was okay. Blaine's coffee had grown cold and his mocha had long been emptied. His stomach began to knot nervously, but he would be here soon.

            At 3:00 sharp, Kurt texted Blaine.  _Is everything alright? I'm at CC. -K_ His phone lit up a moment later and he lurched to read the message.  _Feel like shit. Where r u -Rachel._  Kurt sighed and set his phone down. Blaine would be here. An hour wasn't that much time. He would come. Probably.

            At 3:24, the barista strode over to him and wanted to know if he was planning on sleeping there, because Counter Culture is not a camping site nor is it a hotel for homeless people to stay in, even if the sign outside flashed "All Welcome!" in neon purple lights. Kurt assured her that he would be leaving soon and leaned his head against the cool window sadly, wishing that every head of dark hair he saw would turn out to be the one person he longed to see the most.

            When 4:00 finally came around, Kurt got up and threw his coffee away. Blaine hadn't come and he'd made his intentions pretty clear. They didn't have a chance together; they never did and they never would. Blaine was damaged, tainted, ruined by all the pain Kurt had branded him with and Kurt was equally damaged by the consequences. They wouldn't work together. God, what had he been thinking?

            But somehow, Kurt found himself buying another medium drip. And then Kurt found himself stalking towards the subway while the chilling wind numbed his ears and fingertips. The snow beneath his shoes crunched loudly as he crossed through the intersection and down the slippery stairs of the subway.

            Kurt didn't feel the burning coffee when it splashed onto his wrist as the train jolted, nor did he feel the burning sensation as his body thawed out to the sweaty air. He could only feel the pain of his heart shattering in his chest.

 

             _"But Kuuuuurt," Blaine whined as Kurt dragged him up to his bedroom, "you said we wouldn't exchange Christmas presents._

 _Kurt was beaming as he slammed the door behind them and plopped down on his bed. "Well, I lied. I found something_ perfect  _for you and I know we've only been dating for six months and-and Christmas is three days away, but I really, really want you to open it now."_

_Blaine crossed his arms, and bit his lip to contain his smile. "Alright, alright. I'll open it."_

_Kurt released an emphatic squeal and reached into his bedside drawer. The package had been wrapped in sparkling silver tissue paper and tied with a bright red bow. He handed it to Blaine, jumping up and down impatiently on the mattress and clasping his hands together._

_Blaine shook his head fondly at his boyfriend and gingerly opened the gift. It was a small, gold heart on a sparkling chain. Blaine's first thought was to hold it up and scoff. Was this some kind of a gag? Surely his boyfriend hadn't gotten him a necklace for Christmas. Then he saw the inscribed K+B on the front of the locket and jimmied open the heart to reveal a small photograph of Kurt's face._

_Kurt's shoulder slumped beside him. "You don't like it. Damn, I knew I should've gone with the picture of both of us but I was afraid it wouldn't fit. Is it too girly? I-"_

_He cut him off with a kiss, immediately reaching his hand up to cup Kurt's jaw and bring them closer together. "I love it. God, Kurt, I love it so much."_

_Kurt's eyes glimmered happily. "Good. Good, I'm glad," he replied softly._

_"I got you something too," Blaine said._

_Kurt smacked him on the arm playfully. "Asshole, we said we wouldn't get Christmas presents."_

_Blaine wiggled his eyebrows. "We both violated that pact and I believe that just ensures that we're perfect for each other. Here."_

_Kurt took the comic-strip-encased present from him and tore through it much less gracefully than Blaine had. It was a little bowtie decorated in the brand names of the most famous Broadway plays._ Hair, RENT, the Book of Mormon, Cats, Wicked, Phantom of the Opera, Newsies.

_"It's a bowtie," he whispered with a giggle. "I love it so much."_

_Blaine draped his hand across Kurt's and squeezed. "I know you're more of a tie person but I figured we could match."_

_"I love you. And your quirky bowties."_

_"And I love you, even though this is the first and probably last bowtie you will ever own."_

Blaine and Christian's apartment building looked the same as it had three weeks ago. Kurt wasn't sure why, but he thought that broken light bulb in the hallway would've been fixed, or maybe the sixth floor button in the elevator would stop blinking obnoxiously. Somehow the tiny imperfections comforted him, knowing that Blaine would be forced to walk under that light bulb every day and press the damned sixth floor button. He deserved them. He deserved the glitches.

            Apartment 221. Kurt was tempted to just bang on the door and scream. Things were starting to get better-Blaine had given him hope-and now he was standing out in the hallway like the cliché, desperate ex-boyfriend he was. He should chuck the coffee outside the window and laugh as it splattered across the ground below. Blaine didn't deserve the coffee, even if half of it was sticky with subway slush.

            He set down the coffee on the doormat and took a step back, inhaling deeply. His mouth opened without his consent and he could hear words leaving his tongue that sounded too shallow and tortured to be his own voice.

            "I don't know if you can hear me. You probably can't. It doesn't matter. I'm not sure why you didn't show up today but I just-you could've called, you know? You could've at least texted me to tell me you didn't want to see me. Break my heart, Blaine, throw me out on the cold streets and leave me, but don't give me hope." His eyes were stinging and he swept his sleeve across his face. "Because that's the worst kind of pain you can give me."

            With that, Kurt turned on his heel and walked away.


	17. I Tore My Heart Out For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for self-harm. So this may actually be the longest chapter I’ve ever written and I’m a bit proud of myself for it. Thanks to everyone who reads, reviews, and gives us amazing suggestions that we always try to incorporate into our work! The lyrics used in this chapter are from All the Way by Hedley. Enjoy!

_Could you take it if I didn’t come home?_

_Would you be brave?_

_Could I be faithful?_

_Would you feel safe?_

_If **I tore my heart out for you**?_

            Kurt didn’t bother checking on the girls when he got home. Instead, he stepped inside his apartment and shrugged off his half-frozen overcoat with numb and swollen fingers. Nysa greeted him with a meow and arched her back as she rubbed against his shin. The living room was so cold that Kurt could see his breath in white, clouded puffs of air and the window had frosted over with a thin sheet of ice.

            “Fuck,” he muttered as he began to massage the already-rising hair on his forearm. He crossed through the room and fiddled with the heater only to find the dial had broken and currently claimed the apartment temperature was 91 degrees Celsius.

            Kurt settled for a steaming hot shower, which thankfully, had not been broken along with the furnace. He removed his clothes and sat on the ground as the hot water rushed over him in sparkling rivets. His chest felt so tight, like an elephant crushing his sternum; suffocating him, drowning him, squeezing out every last breath he had to offer. How could Blaine just leave him there looking like a fool? Everything had taken months to start looking up again, but it had only taken Blaine five minutes to knock it all back down.

            Kurt reached forward and gripped the shower knob. He turned it to increase the heat and bowed his head. The water rushed behind his ears and trickled down over the bridge of his nose and into his stinging eyes. His back began to burn with the pressure, but he welcomed the distraction from his plagued thoughts and twisted it further.

            His flesh had become beet red and the bathtub water scorched the bottom of his feet and the backs of his legs. The sound of the spray hitting the marble was the only thing that filled the silence, beating against the ground in a rhythm similar to the pounding of Kurt’s broken heart. Nothing, not even the blisters that began to form on his shoulders, could hurt worse than what Blaine had done to him.

            “Merry Christmas, son!”

            Burt’s enthusiastic tone did little to comfort Kurt and he curled in on himself as he listened to the cheery Christmas music playing in the background. He pressed the phone between his ear and the pillow and squeezed his eyes shut. “Merry Christmas, dad.”

            “How’s your day been? Good? How did Rachel and Santana’s party go, huh? I saw some pictures on that website…What’s it called? Bookface?” Burt chattered on.

            Kurt couldn’t help the faint grin that tugged at his lips. “Facebook,” he corrected softly. “And her party was fine.”

            There was a moment of quiet as his father pondered Kurt’s monotonous response. “Was Blaine there?” he asked. Kurt heard the click of a door and knew Burt had gone somewhere private to talk to him.

            “Yeah. He was.”

            “And—and did everything go okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

            “It was—“ he searched for the right word, “—fine. Blaine was fine.”  
            “Then what’s the problem, bud? I know we said we would come out for the holidays this year, but you know how this is the shop’s busiest season—“

            “It’s not that, dad.” He hesitated, wanting to tell his father everything about how he’d been stood up, but dreading the lecture that would surely follow. “I…After Blaine went home last night, I asked him if he wanted to meet me for coffee…He said yes and then…And then he never showed up. I texted him, but…” He swallowed hard and awaited Burt’s reply.

            “Goddammit.”

            “Dad?”

            “Son—“ he stopped and released a long sigh. “How many times have you tried this with Blaine? A dozen? And where’s it gotten you? Nowhere. I know you two were high school sweethearts and I know you feel bad for how he is now, but you’ve tried fixing him and you failed.” Kurt felt his heart break just a little more. “Nobody wants to hear this, buddy, but this is the hardcore truth and I’m not just going to stand back and watch my only son get dragged down again. Let go of him, Kurt. For your wellbeing if nothing else.”

            Kurt didn’t answer.  _You tried fixing him and you failed._ Tears raced down his cheeks and stained his lips with salty droplets. He pressed his palm to his mouth to muffle his sob.

            “Kurt?”

            He inhaled shakily. “I have to go. R-Rachel’s here.” He didn’t bother with pleasantries and hung up the device before flinging it across the room and burrowing down into his covers.  _You tried fixing him and you failed._

            Kurt didn’t sleep at all. After all of his tears dried up, he laid on his back and stared up at the empty, white ceiling with bloodshot eyes. The sky turned deep indigo, pitch black, and then a vibrant orange as the sun began to rise over the line of buildings. Although he’d received no more than eight hours of sleep over the past two nights, his exhaustion was kept at bay and refused to engulf him even when he longed for the relief of dreams.

            At nine o’clock, he dragged his sore body out of bed and padded into the kitchen. He put a pot of herbal tea on the stove and turned on the television. Luckily, the apartment had warmed up overnight and the furnace appeared to have repaired itself. The sky outside was clear and the snow had begun to melt in thick pools of filthy liquid.

            Once Kurt had gotten his mug and sat down on the couch with Nysa curled up in his lap, the front door burst open and Santana stalked inside. He lurched up, splashing the hot tea onto his wrist and hissing in pain. “What’re you doing here?” he demanded.

            Santana set down her purse on the counter and sauntered over to the couch. She was wearing a skintight blue dress and wearing a crème-colored halter puff-jacket that did little to cover up her cleavage, and three inch pump heels. “Came over to check on you, princess. Rachel was worried about you, blah, blah, blah, but she had to go scout out an audition for some shitty Broadgay play.”

            Kurt brought his knees up to his chest and scooted away from her. “I’m just fine, as you can see. You can go now,” he said stiffly.

            Santana rolled her eyes as she propped her feet up on the coffee table. “Clearly you are not ‘fine’, Porcelain. Fetch me a cup of tea, will you?”

            “No, I will not,” he snapped. “I’m not in the fucking mood for your banter today, Santana. Fuck off.”

            “Jesus, Hummel, I do believe that’s the most times you’ve ever used ‘fuck’ in a sentence. I think I’m rubbing off on you.” She tapped his shoulder playfully, but he shrugged her off and inched away until the armrest was pressing into his side. Santana frowned at him suddenly and turned so she was facing him. “Alright, spill it. Because as far as I’m concerned, you and Pinky Pie were chummy old fuckbuddies at Rachel’s party and then you decided to go all Cinderella on us and clean the apartment and now you’re acting like somebody cut off your sparkly little dick.”  
            It took him a moment to process her words. “We’re not—I don’t have a—“ he spluttered, finally giving up when Santana quirked a perfectly plucked eyebrow and he knew there was no way convincing her that his dick was neither sparkly nor little. “Blaine stood me up at Counter Culture.”

            Santana pursed her bright red lips and didn’t say anything for a couple awkward seconds. Kurt’s skin crawled at the thought of another painful scolding about how stupid he was acting. Surprisingly, she reached across and squeezed his hand empathetically. “Well, that place does have the worst coffee ever.” He didn’t laugh. “Look, I’m sorry that happened to you, but…what did you expect?”

            He tore his gaze away from her, eyes burning. She moved closer. “This isn’t like some fairytale, hon. Blaine isn’t going to magically get over his drug addiction and carry you off to Dildo Island. He’s  _sick_ and he’s fucked up and he’s not going to get better overnight just because you two had a couple good moments together on the oh-so-magical Christmas Eve.”

            “I know that. I do,” Kurt whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

            “No, Kurt, I don’t think you do. You have to make a decision; you have to decide if you truly love him and how far that love is going to take you. It means  _rehab_ and it means a lot more sleepless nights and it means relapse and break ups and it means years of working to get where he needs to be. It means compromise and understanding and sacrifice and it means difficulty. If you’re ready to give up all that you have—your job, your peace of mind, your opaque image of the perfect man—then go right ahead. But if you’re not, then you need to put a bandage on that pathetic heart of yours and move on.”

            Kurt grinned despite the ache in his chest. “God, Santana, when did you become Oprah?”

            She shoved him in the arm. “Oh, shut up, porcelain. I’m trying to help here and you are completely ruining the seriousness.”

            He emitted a small chuckle, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. His throat was dry and his mouth tasted like cotton. “I made him this way. I can’t just leave him to suffer. He was my first…everything and I ruined him.”

            Santana tipped her head back against the cushions and closed her eyes. “You can’t control the choices people make or the paths that those choices lead them too. Of course you can influence somebody and what they choose, but ultimately, you are not responsible for anybody else or what they’ve done. You didn’t  _make_ Blaine turn to drugs and you certainly didn’t make him try and kill himself. If I remember correctly, you seemed to be the only person actually interested in helping him. And that’s all you can do— _try_  to help him.”

            Kurt was shaking his head over and over. He couldn’t stop. “I left him alone in Lima. And I knew he would hurt Blaine more, and I fucking  _left_  him still. That’s why I have to save him.”

            “You left him with who? Who hurt Blaine?”  _Shit._ What was he supposed to tell her now? Santana wouldn’t stop pestering him about this, and if he made up some pesky lie, she would know. Did it really matter that much five years later? Blaine had made him swear not to tell anyone, but it was all in the past now and Santana wasn’t the type of person to go to the police anyways.

            Kurt took a deep breath. “When Blaine and I were dating in high school, his dad…his dad was abusing him. He made me swear not to tell people, but I just kept pushing him to go to the counselor or the authorities or someone, but he wouldn’t. I left him alone in Lima with his dad who beat him.”

            He could see Santana’s jaw working as she struggled to understand what he’d just said. “That’s serious,” she replied finally. Her dark brown eyes were distant and she had gone pale. “I didn’t know.”

            “Nobody did.” Kurt’s voice sounded a lot more broken then he intended it to and Santana snapped her attention back to him.

            “It’s not your fault.”

            “But I should’ve done something—“

            “You helped him a lot more than you know. He made it to New York, didn’t he? He’s still alive. That’s because of  _you.”_

Kurt didn’t answer. He didn’t believe that, not really, but somehow Santana’s words managed to soothe him. He leaned closer to her until his head was resting against her arm and breathed in the scent of strong perfume.

            “Do you love him?”

            The question wasn’t very complicated. It consisted of four simple words that although short, held so much meaning within them. He was still throbbing with hurt from the way Blaine had stood him up, but the longing to see him again trumped the pain and Kurt knew the answer.

            “Yes.”

            They sat like that for a long time. Kurt couldn’t tell if it’d been minutes or hours or merely seconds that ticked by as the television played some late Christmas cartoon. Finally, Kurt tilted his head up to look at Santana. Her long hair tickled his nose.

            “How do you know so much about relationships?” he wanted to know.

            Santana shifted so her legs were bent underneath her. “Brittany.”

            “Brittany?”     

            “Brittany.”

            Sometime around one in the afternoon, a while after Santana had left to the diner and Kurt had begun the deep, winter cleaning of his apartment while he still had time off from work and school, Kurt’s phone buzzed with a new text message.

            Blaine’s name popped up on the screen and Kurt faltered. He was still angry with him, but the desire to know what had happened was too strong to ignore and he opened the message.  _I’m sorry. -B_ Another text message flooded in, followed by a third.  _I’m sorry, I panicked and I saw you there and just couldn’t do it.-B I know I should have texted you or called you or did something to let you know I wasn’t showing up but I was just so ashamed that I let it all get to me and I’m sorry, Kurt. –B_

Kurt suddenly felt like he was going to throw up. He sat down on the carpeting, his shaky hands clutching the phone as his eyes read and re-read the messages again and again. It just seemed like Blaine was pulling some stupid excuse out of his ass and proposing it because he wasn’t really sure what he wanted. And that hurt.

            He put his phone into his back pocket and went back to organizing his cupboards. Blaine deserved to wait for his reply; he deserved to wait in the dark just like Kurt had been forced to. Kurt itched to answer him though, and his phone felt like a heavy weight in his back pocket, dragging him down, down, down exactly like Burt had said.

            Maybe he shouldn’t answer. That was the beauty about technology, wasn’t it? Being able to put down your phone and never talk to the person again? Kurt wanted to so bad. He wanted to give up and let go and move up and onward, but then Santana’s words echoed in his mind, louder than those of his father’s.  _And that’s all you can do—try to help him._

He took a deep breath and reached for his phone. He wasn’t sure what to say. For one thing, he was furious that he’d been made a fool of. He was sad that Blaine didn’t tell him what was wrong. He was excited that Blaine had ended up texting him at all. He was scared to say something wrong, or even something too right. He was horrified at the way Blaine said he’d made him freak out. He was eager to see him again. But mostly, Kurt was just confused.

            His fingers froze over the keypad. He could hear cars honking outside and the faint music playing over his iPod and the neighbors down the hall arguing and Nysa mewling from her perch on the countertop and his own heart beating deafeningly in his ears.

             _I want to see you,_  Kurt tapped out and then quickly erased it. No, that was too desperate. He was angry and he needed to make sure that Blaine knew that. This was not going to be some too-fast fling that led only to heated quickies between work shifts.

             _That’s a stupid excuse, Blaine. If you didn’t want to see me then you should’ve just told me instead of leading me on.-K_ Yes, now that was much angrier. He stared at it for a minute, wondering if he should say something a bit nicer, before sending it off.  _Do you realize I waited two hours for you?-K_

            He laid his phone down on the floor like it was made of spiders and crawled away from it. Kurt could remember every single stupid teenage style magazine he’d read about how to get a boy to like you and each one had reminded him not to be too hasty when answering text messages; be mysterious, make him want you.

            Kurt heard his phone buzz a second later, but he ignored it and shuffled through boxes of organic pastas. Penne, alfredo, corkscrew— _I should answer him—_ strained, not strained, non-fat— _I should really answer him—_ half-price Spongebob macaroni, sharp cheddar, bowtie— _I’m going to answer him._

He snatched up the device and eagerly read the message.  _I did want to see you! I did. I’m sorry. –B_ Kurt dragged his fingers through his hair, which hung loosely over his forehead since he had neglected to put any product in it today. This time, there was no hesitation and the text was sent off before he could give it a second thought.  _I don’t think I can believe you this time. –K_

            It barely took a heartbeat before Blaine replied. Kurt wondered if he was simply sitting by the phone with his fingers prepared to type at a moment’s notice.  _Kurt, please. Please give me another chance. Please. I’m so sorry. I panicked and it was too much and I’m SORRY._ – _B._

He could almost see Blaine and hear the desperation in his voice. He would lick his lips, a nervous habit he’d had since high school, and those drop-dead hazel eyes of his would swim with thick, glossy tears. Kurt was glad they weren’t face-to-face; he always lost when they argued and Blaine brought out those goddamn puppy eyes.

             _I’m so sick of playing this game. What do you even want from me? What do you even want to get out of…this?-K_  Every fiber of Kurt’s being ached to see Blaine again, and to feel the warmth of his skin against his own, the electricity that came with being so close to the man he loved. But it was just a game of cat-and-mouse. Kurt tried to help—Blaine chased him away. It was a vicious cycle with no end in sight unless Blaine let him  _in._

_You don’t think I’m sick of this? You don’t think I hurt just as much?? I get it, Kurt. I know what it’s like to have someone walk away. Don’t you remember? I know what it’s like to be given hope.-B. God, can’t you see I’m trying to fix this?-B. I want YOU. I miss you so much.-B. I’m trying. I really am. –B_

            No. They’d been through this before. Kurt was not some toy that Blaine played with when he wanted to and then tossed him away the moment he didn’t need him anymore. This was reality, not a fairytale, just like Santana had told him.

             _We’ve already been through this, Blaine. And you pushed me away. We can’t fix this—can’t fix you—unless you let me in.-K Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.-K_ Kurt was taking both his father’s and Santana’s advice seriously as he wrote out the messages. He loved Blaine, he did, and he wanted nothing more than to be back with him, but he needed to work for it if they were going to truly be together.

             _I’m trying! I don’t think you understand how hard this is. I’m not broken! I’m not broken. I’m not.-B_

            “But you are,” Kurt said aloud.

             _You /are/ broken, but we can fix this. Together. If you’d just let me break down your walls.-K_

             _You’re the one who put them there. –B_ Kurt didn’t register the tears that plopped onto his sweat pants for what certainly wasn’t the first time that day.

             _I know I hurt you, okay? I know I fucked you up and I’m sorry. How many times do I have to say that before it gets through to you? The past is the past and you know I would change it if I could. But I can’t. So let’s focus on the present and learn from our fucking mistakes, Blaine. I’m trying to fix you. Doesn’t that count for anything? –K_

 _Forget it. I’m sorry. You’re right. You’re always right.-B_ Kurt didn’t want to be right when he knew how much his words had hurt Blaine.  _Can we just meet for coffee tomorrow?-B For real this time?-B_

Kurt’s breath hitched.  _I don’t know. –K Maybe. –K Yes. –K I mean, if you promise you won’t leave me there. –K_ Oh, fuck it all, who cared if he sounded like a ten year old girl talking to her crush?

             _I promise.- B_

_I’ll see you. –K_

_CC at 2? –B_

Kurt smirked at this.  _CC at 2.- K,_ he affirmed before flopping down on his back with a giddy squeal. It all just felt superficially happy, like he was a string of dominos that would inevitably get knocked down but for now he was going to enjoy the temporary high.

             _Kurt. –B Thank you. –B For giving me a second chance. –B_

_Thank you, too. –K_


	18. Tower Over Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t worry, we’ll let Kurt and Blaine actually get to have coffee soon. Thanks to everyone who reads, reviews, and everything in between every week! I love reading your responses! Don’t forget to check out Blaine’s POV (Stained Glass) over at my perfect co-author’s account (kurtsontop). The lyrics this week are from Paramore’s We Are Broken. Enjoy!

_And under red lights_  
I’ll show myself it wasn’t forged  
We’re at war, we live like this

_Keep me safe inside_  
Your arms like towers  
 **Tower over me**

_He’s here. He’s really here._ Kurt’s heart leapt into his throat at the sight of Blaine through the misted window of Counter Culture. He was sitting in the exact spot Kurt had been, the seat by the far window, with his legs crossed and his hands folded together over the tabletop. He was dressed in a black polo with red jeans, a yellow and red bowtie with a leather jacket draped over the back of his chair. He looked…He looked like Blaine.

            Kurt pushed open the door, stomping the half-melted snow from his boots on the rug and making sure to keep his gaze lowered to the floor. He smoothed his hair back with shaky hands, took a deep breath, and made a beeline for Blaine’s table in the corner.

            Blaine stumbled to his feet at the sight of him, rushing over to the other side of the table in order to push out the chair for Kurt. His cheeks were flushed pink and his eyes were wide with joy. “You came,” he said.

            Kurt chuckled and sat down in the open chair. “Yeah. I did.”

`           A beat of awkward silence passed, and Kurt took the chance to study Blaine’s features. The curve of his jaw that he used to spend hours kissing, the sweep of his tongue as it poked out to moisten his lips, the long lashes that fanned out beneath his comically triangular eyebrows.

            Blaine blushed darker, ducking his head as he watched Kurt curiously. “I got you a grande non-fat mocha. I wasn’t sure if you still liked that, but I got it anyways. I can take it back if you want and get you something different—“

            “It’s perfect. Thank you,” Kurt said. Somehow knowing that Blaine was just as nervous as he was soothed the hyperactive butterflies twirling in the pit of his stomach. “So. Hi.”

            Blaine’s grinned brightly. “Hi.” As quickly as it had appeared, his smile faded and he dropped his gaze. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “About yesterday—“

            Suddenly, Kurt’s  _La Vie Boheme_ ringtone blared out, echoing throughout the café and catching the attention of the other customers. For a moment, Kurt hesitated, unsure if he should let it go to voicemail. And then Blaine was motioning for him to get it, expression defeated as he played mindlessly with the plastic band on his coffee cup.

            He rifled through his bag and pulled out his cell. An unknown number blinked across the screen. “It’s probably just Rachel calling from work,” he announced with a tentative laugh. “I’ll tell her I’m busy.”

            “Hello, is this Mr. Kurt Hummel?”

            Kurt sat up straighter. “I—Yes, it is.”

            “Mr. Hummel, I’m calling about Aaron Morgen. You were listed as his emergency contact in our records. Can you confirm this?”

            Kurt was going to throw up. This couldn’t be happening, not now. “I know him, yes,” he replied shortly.

            That seemed to be enough credibility for the woman on the line. “It appears that Mr. Morgen has been in a car accident. I can’t release any further detail over the telephone, but there are some forms we need you to sign in order for us to go through with some of the procedures. Is there any chance you could come to the Northview Hospital on twenty-second street immediately?”

            Kurt pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly. He pictured Aaron, bloodied and broken, strewn across a stretcher like a rag doll tossed aside and felt his heart rate skyrocket through the roof. “Y-Yes, I’ll leave right now.” He hung up without waiting for her response and stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

            He shook his head at Blaine, who was observing the situation with wide hazel eyes and pale skin. “It’s Aaron, he’s been in a car crash,” he explained as he began backing towards the door. “I’m so sorry, I have to go.”

            Blaine merely shrugged, gnawing the inside of his cheek. “I’ll text you,” Kurt called as he burst outside and raced down the slickened pavement. His chest tightened at the thought of leaving Blaine, but he ignored it. Blaine could wait.

            The taxi dropped him off at the hospital exactly twenty-one minutes later. During the expanse of the ride, he couldn’t stop thinking of Aaron. He thought he’d been done with Aaron; thought he’d finally washed his sheets of Aaron’s scent and cleansed his heart of Aaron’s taint. Still, his head pounded at the visions that flashed through his mind and the taste of bile was ever-present in the back of his throat. He’d left Blaine— _Blaine_ —alone at the café in favor of a man who he’d kicked out only a few days earlier.

            He dashed out of the cab, throwing a wad of cash he’d intended to use for coffee behind him and hurried through the Northview Hospital entrance. He couldn’t help the memories of Blaine, bandaged and bleeding wrists outstretched as if he was saying,  _“Look at what you’ve made me do, Kurt. Look at what you’ve done to me.”_

            “Hi, I’m looking for Aaron Morgen,” he panted to the receptionist ticking through files behind the desk.

            She peered at him over her purple-rimmed glasses. “Kurt Hummel?”

            “Yes, yes,” Kurt exclaimed, bracing himself against the wall as if he might fall over at any second.

            “I believe we spoke on the phone. Here are the forms I discussed. You can fill them out in Aaron’s room, I’ll have a nurse show you the way.”      

            The overwhelming smell of detoxins did little to comfort his knotting stomach as they bustled down the hall, into the elevator and up to the pre-surgery unit.  _He’s well enough to receive visitors,_ he chanted over and over in his head.  _He’s well enough to receive visitors._ But as they entered the fourth door on the right, Kurt saw that Aaron did not look ‘well’ at all.

            Both of his eyes were swollen shut, encircled in dark purple rings that appeared so surreal they could’ve been stage makeup. A long gash split his left eyebrow, held together by a thin line of stitches; his forehead speckled with tiny cuts. His bottom lip seeped blood down his bruised chin and onto his neck brace. He was dressed in a baby blue hospital gown, with one of his arms in a sling and a foot wrapped up in an excessive amount of bandages.

            The nurse stepped forward, leaving Kurt frozen in the doorway, and began inspecting the beeping machine perched beside Aaron’s unconscious form and adjusted the IV feeding into his undamaged arm.

            “Well, his left foot was shattered in the impact. This arm is sprained and he attained severe whiplash, but his neck should return to full mobility after a couple weeks of physical therapy. However, our main concern are the fractures in his spine,” the nurse said in a tone that sounded painfully calm.

            Kurt stopped listening around the third broken bone she mentioned, eyes swimming with tears.“I—What? Is he going to be alright?”

            “As far as we can tell, his vitals are stabilized and fractures aren’t exhibiting signs of paralyzation, so if we are able to observing the injuries, Mr. Morgen will recover with minimal complications. That’s why we need you to sign the forms. Only a relative can give permission for the patient to stay here overnight.”

            “Then why am I here?” He couldn’t stop the words that fell from his lips, sounding all too harsh and cruel.

            She stared at him, obviously baffled. “You were listed as Mr. Morgen’s spouse. Is that incorrect?”

            Just like that, the ringing in Kurt’s ears stopped. Aaron had  _lied._ He had lied on his legal records. Anger coursed through his veins, causing his fists to clench at his sides. He thought he’d been mad before, but no—no, this was unadulterated fury.

            “Sir? If there’s been some kind of mistake, I can—“

            “No, no mistake,” he interrupted, surprising them both. He’d been in a relationship with Aaron for four years and Kurt still knew this entire predicament was his fault. He’d led Aaron on and went behind his back, throwing their relationship away practically the first moment he’d laid eyes on Blaine. He owed it to Aaron to fill out the goddamn forms and save his life.

            Kurt stumbled into the plastic chair next to him, forcing himself to inhale. “Can you tell me about the car crash? How did this…this happen?” he wanted to know.

            The nurse furrowed her eyebrows. “Mr. Hummel, does Aaron have any history of depression or suicidal intentions?”

His stomach sunk like a stone in a stream.  _“What?”_

            “Some of our first aid responders and policemen who investigated the scene of the crash said that it did not appear to be an accident. Mr. Morgen ran the red light on Bleuming Hue street and drove headlong into a stationary semi truck. The blood tests we conducted did not reveal any drug or alcohol influence, so his decision was conscious. Fortunately, nobody else was harmed in the collision, but the front of his car was crushed entirely. We will be able to assess the situation further once he wakes up.  Of course if symptoms indicate suicidal intentions or depression, he will be placed under supervision and evaluated by one of our specialists for further treatment.”

             _Why?_ Why would Aaron try to  _kill_  himself? Kurt dragged his trembling fingers through his hair. This couldn’t be real, it had to be some kind of horrific nightmare. It was because of him, he knew. God, why did he always have to be so selfish? If he’d just stayed with Aaron and made himself love him, forced himself to believe everything was okay, then this never would’ve happened. Why the fuck did he have to be so uptight? It was just a proposal. It was just a stupid proposal.

            “I understand,” he replied stiffly.

            The nurse left after a couple more times of struggling to initiate conversation, and finally giving up when Kurt tuned out. He brought his knees up to his chest as he scribbled his signature on each form, barely registering the neatly printed words.  

             _Wake up, Aaron. Please wake up so I can fix this. I didn’t mean to make you hurt, I was just doing what I thought was right, but I was wrong and I’m so sorry. Wake up, wake up, wake up._

            Kurt wasn’t quite sure how much time had passed or exactly how long he’d been sitting in the chair, but his legs had begun to ache and his arms tingled with numbness. The nurse came in a couple of times to remind him that visiting hours would be over soon, and the sky outside had long become a dusky grey, but Kurt refused to move.

            It was sometime around six, Kurt estimated, when Aaron emitted an agonized and weak groan. Immediately, Kurt was on his feet and kneeling beside him. Aaron’s blond hair had been combed aside in order to address his forehead, and up close Kurt could clearly see where the windshield glass had implanted in his flesh.

            Aaron’s eyelashes fluttered, causing him to moan again, and his gaze slowly landed on Kurt. “Kurt,” he said, voice strained and cracking. “Ow.”

            Kurt shushed him. “Don’t try to speak, you’ll only hurt yourself more.”

            Aaron’s chapped and engorged lips curved up into a faint smile. “You came,” he croaked. In that moment, his baby blue eyes glistened with something that could only be described as satisfaction.

            Those had been the same words Blaine had so happily uttered. Kurt cleared his throat. “Sweetheart, do you know what happened to you?” he asked kindly, stroking his fingers through his hair.

            “Yes. I got into a car wreck,” he answered matter-of-factly, pressing up into Kurt’s touch.

            “You ran a red light. Do you remember why you did that?” Kurt continued carefully.

            Aaron frowned, his breathing becoming labored as his eyes slid shut. “I w-wanted to see you, Kurt,” he whispered hoarsely. He reached his right arm up and his cold, bony fingers wrapped around Kurt’s wrist.

            “You crashed your car…because you wanted to see me?” he repeated, the words not quite sinking in.

            Aaron attempted to nod and upon realizing he wore a neck brace, shrugged instead. “I love you, Kurt.”

            “That’s not love.” Kurt was eerily gentle; every fiber of his being exhausted from the whirlwind of emotions that had been spiraling through his mind nonstop. “That’s sadistic, Aaron. Why would you want to hurt yourself to see me? Haven’t you ever heard of texting? Or phone calls? Or emails? You know where I live.”

            “You wouldn’t have answered me. You hate me.”

            “I don’t—I don’t hate you,” Kurt insisted after a moment’s hesitation. “Just because we broke up doesn’t mean I want you to  _die._  All the doctors think this was a suicide attempt, for Pete’s sake.”

            “I just wanted to rough myself up a bit…not this bad.” Aaron didn’t sound like he actually cared about his critical condition. Kurt felt his skin crawl.

            “Aaron, this is not some stupid game. Do you realize that you w _recked your car,_ got  _severely injured_ and _lied on legal forms_?” Kurt hissed. He wrenched his wrist out of Aaron’s iron grasp. “This is serious!”

            Aaron shifted like he wanted to sit up in the hospital bed. “No, no, no. I did this all for you, Kurt—for us! We’re meant to be, don’t you see that? We’re perfect for each other!”

            Kurt crossed his arms over his chest in disgust. “We are not meant to be. I loved our relationship for a long time and part of me still cares for you. But I can’t be with you because I don’t love  _you._ I love somebody else,” he said steadily.

            Aaron’s piercing glare was like liquid fire burning into him. “ _Blaine?_ ” he spat. “You fucked him up, Kurt—“ this was the first time Kurt had ever heard him swear and he flinched back, astonished, “—you can’t honestly think that he’ll ever love you.”

            “I’m putting him back together!” he shouted, not giving a damn who was listening. “Blaine isn’t like you, Aaron, he’s my soul mate.”

            Aaron’s expression fell. Kurt swallowed uncomfortably. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I screwed you over. I made you do this. I’ll sign the forms and say we’re married for the sake of your health, but once you get out of here, we are  _done,_ for good. No more phone calls, or showing up at my apartment, or wrecking your car. I get that you still want me, that’s normal, but you need to deal with it without causing pain to yourself or others.” He stalked towards the door.

            “You can’t do this! You can’t just leave me like—like this! I’m hurt, Kurt, I’m broken,” he pleaded.

            Kurt stopped in the hallway, gathering up every ounce of courage and fueling all of his pent-up anger from the past few days. “Goodbye, Aaron.” 


	19. All Your Love is Wasted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for rape (the person does not accomplish full rape. There are no clothes removed and the other wakes up before anything happens, but roofies are mentioned and used). My co-author and I have been getting tons of incredible reviews and suggestions, which we always take into consideration, over the past few weeks! We are so honored to have such amazing readers like all of you and I honestly can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for us and this fic! And yes, those are Welcome to Nightvale references. This week’s song is Skinny Love by Birdy. Enjoy!

_Come on, skinny love, what happened here?_

_Suckle on hope in light brassieres._

_And now_ **_all your love is wasted,_ **

_Sullen load is full, so slow on the split._

            For the first time in what seemed like forever, Kurt slept. He slept for twelve hours straight, without his phone ringing obnoxiously, or Rachel barging in, or nightmares jolting him awake. He couldn’t quite explain why, but he felt utterly at peace with the universe in a way that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He was done with Aaron, finally secure in a career he loved, had a whole apartment to himself, flanked by his two best friends and in a good place with Blaine. Things could not be going better.

            Kurt awoke around ten in the morning, allowing himself to simply lay amidst his satin sheets and bask in the warm orange glow of the late morning. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and tapped out a quick text message to Blaine.  _Hey. I’m really sorry about yesterday. Rain check? –K_  He then dragged himself out of bed and into the kitchen to brew a cup of herbal tea.

             _Today’s the day,_  Kurt decided as he sat down on his couch and surveyed the apartment with an eager gaze.  _Today’s the day I change._

            Even though Aaron had left, taking most of his possessions with him, there were still dozens of framed photographs depicting both of them hung throughout the apartment along with his still partially-furnished bedroom that Kurt had stubbornly kept the door closed to. He swept down the hallways, gathering up each picture of them and delicately removing the frames before tossing the film into the garbage bag.

            Aaron had loved to broadcast their relationship in whatever means accessible and that included hanging an embarrassing number of pictures  _everywhere_. Kurt worked for two hours straight just leafing through photo albums, dumping out frames and throwing away the dozen videotapes he’d made of them—surprisingly nonsexual.

            Finally, as Kurt flipped through the last photo book titled “Kurtikins and Air-Bear: April 2017-May 2017”, he could hardly believe he’d ever been attracted to someone who had actually called him “Kurtikins”. At was almost as if he wore a mask while they were dating and now that they were broken up, Kurt could see Aaron for what he truly was: deceitful, clingy and obsessive.

            Kurt picked up a shiny picture of them at Disneyworld. Aaron had surprised Kurt and paid for an entire Disney weekend getaway. That’s another thing Kurt had hated about him; the excessive amount of money he loved to remind everyone he had.

             _“Aaron, where are we going? Is that water I hear? Do I hear water?”_

_“We’re almost there, honey bunches. Oh, watch your step.” Aaron bit his lip in anticipation as he back-walked towards the luminescent rainbow foundation in the back garden of the elite member hotel. He stopped at the railing of the balcony, holding Kurt’s hands between his own and nodded excitedly. “Okay, okay, open them.”_

_Kurt gasped in awe, leaning forward and staring open-mouthed as the fountain spewed a stream of sparkling jets that formed a heart. “Oh, my god, this is incredible,” he exclaimed._

_Aaron intertwined their fingers, brushing his long hair behind his ear with his other hand. “And it hardly cost a dime._

            He shuddered, throwing it over his shoulder and into the bag without a second glance. Most normal people would probably shed a couple tears or at least hesitate before crumpling up their plastic memories, but Kurt only felt nauseous at the thought of ever seeing Aaron again.

             _“Wait, let me get this straight—you rented out an entire_ restaurant _just so we could have a private romantic dinner?”_

_Aaron’s cheeks flushed a bright red and he looked down, embarrassed. “Well, I mean, the chefs are still here. And Arnold the waiter. We can go somewhere else—“_

_Kurt squeezed his hand reassuringly. “No, babe, I love it. It’s perfect.”_

_“You’re perfect, Kurtikins.”_

            He picked up the trash bag off the floor and put into the can beside the door. He could barely wait for the garbage truck to come tomorrow and get rid of the photographs once and for all.

             _“Kurt.” Aaron’s tone was ice cold. Kurt set down his keys with a sigh, mentally running through all the things he could say in this situation. “You’re twenty-six minutes late.”_

_Kurt wound his way around the bar and gave Aaron a quick kiss on the cheek. “Sweetheart, I missed the subway and had to take the later bus. I’m really sorry, I’ll make it up to you.”_

_Aaron was rigid as he turned to face his boyfriend, stony gaze accusing. “There’s a subway that leaves for Greenwich at 4:05. There’s another shuttle that leaves at 4:15. It takes you three minutes to walk from there up to our apartment. You should’ve gotten here at 4:18, 4:20 at the latest. But yet here we are, and it’s 4:27. What were you doing for those six minutes, Kurt? Huh?”_

_Kurt rolled his eyes. “You can’t be serious right now. I stopped to talk to Eddie about his date last Friday.”_

_“The bellhop?”_

_“The bellhop.”_

_“There’s something going on between you two, isn’t there?”_

_“What? No, of course not, you’re being ridiculous!”_

_Aaron drew his eyebrows together. “Just tell me that you’re cheating on me, Kurt, just tell me and we can work through it.”_

_“But I’m_ not _,” Kurt protested. He was getting mad now._

_“Do you promise?” Aaron demanded._

_Kurt sputtered. “For fuck sake, Aaron, yes I promise. Now will you stop being such a jealous prick and order Chinese?”_

            Kurt needed to do something. He needed to do something fun and out-of-character to make sure Aaron’s face was scratched out of his mind permanently. He tapped his fingers on the armrest of his couch. What was something he’d never been able to do when he was in a relationship with Aaron?

            Go out to a club and get ridiculously drunk. 

            Kurt couldn’t remember the last time he’d stayed all night at a club, danced and flirted with strangers, and woke up on the sweat-scented ground of the dance floor, covered in confetti and wearing an unfamiliar shirt. He was single now! That was what being young was all about, right? Being reckless and free-spirited and adventurous?

            So Kurt was going to be young and reckless and free-spirited and adventurous, even if it killed him.

            It took only twenty minutes to convince Rachel to abandon her  _Smash_ marathon and the word “club” for Santana to squeal excitedly in agreement. It then took him another hour just to figure out his outfit.

            The last time he’d been to a club was November, and that was completely unplanned. The amount of fun a person has is up their outfit, everyone knows that. Tank-tops beg for one night stands, too-tight skinny jeans lead to an excessive amount of grinding, and anything with glitter on it practically screams “I want to fuck in the bathroom stall”.

            Kurt finally settled on a simple red button-down with his city skyline vest and a pair of tight-in-all-the-right-ways black jeans. They took a taxi to Chaos, New York City’s star clubs for all genders and sexualities, and Santana managed to get them past three-hour-long line by flirting a little with the security guard.

            Immediately, Santana dived headfirst into the crowd of dancing people, holding two tequila shots over her head and asking who wanted to lick them off of her. Rachel and Kurt found places at the bar, where they could survey the hot and sweaty mob of people without getting hot or sweaty themselves.

            It was then that Kurt started receiving free sherry vodkas from a “secret admirer”, which he gladly accepted. It felt really nice to feel wanted by strangers.

            “Well, this is fun!” Rachel yelled at him over the deafening thump of the music. “I’m so glad I opted to come out with you instead of staying in my nice, safe apartment!”

            Kurt rolled his eyes, sipping from the drink. “You’re more than welcome to leave,” he told her with a shrug.

            “I’m not leaving you alone in this—this animal house,” she protested. “God knows what kind of creepers roam the club at this time of night.”

            Kurt was hardly listening at this point, keeping his gaze trained on the dark-haired man who winked slyly at him from his perch across the bar. “Rachel, it’s barely eleven o’clock.”

            “Are you seriously going to tell me that  _that guy_ isn’t a creepy stalker who wants to get into your pants?” Rachel demanded, motioning toward the mysterious person.

            “Oh, stop it. He’s harmless! He’s just flirting with me.”

            “Yeah and that’s another thing. Who even flirts like that? What happened to anonymous bouquets of red roses? What happened to courting?” Rachel ranted, moving her hands animatedly as she spoke.

            “I think you’re stuck in the eighteenth century, hon,” he said in a mock sympathetic tone.

            “He still looks creepy,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly.

            Kurt picked up his drink and leapt off the seat with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Look, I’ll prove it to you.” He sauntered off in the direction of the man, whose expression brightened as he neared. Up close, Kurt could see that his secret admirer was really quite handsome, with windswept mahogany hair, delicately tanned skin that stretched attractively over his chiseled features, and sapphire blue eyes that we deeper and darker than Aaron’s had been. “Hello, I’m Kurt Hummel and I’ve been on the receiving end of your drinks for the past hour.”

            The man grinned proudly. “Sorry. When I see something I like…I just go for it.”

            Kurt chuckled. “My friend over there—the one who’s staring at us right now—thinks you’re some kind of predator spiking my drink with drugs or something,” he explained.

            His laugh was loud and careless. “Do  _you_ think I’m creepy?” he asked lightly, shooting Rachel a little wave.

            Kurt smirked coyly. “Hmm…Hard to say. Tell me about yourself, oh-so-secret admirer.”

            He tipped back in his chair and frowned as if talking about himself took a great amount of thought. “Well, my name is Cecil Roger. I’m a twenty-six year old gay man who goes to Colombia Law and plays football. Um…My favorite animal is a dolphin and quite frankly, I think you’re beautiful.”

            Kurt blushed, ducking his head as the erratic rhythm of this heard echoed in his ears. “Dolphin-lover, huh?” he remarked with a giggle. “You don’t sound very creepy to me.”  

            “Alright, your turn. I think I deserve to know about the person I sent four drinks to.”       

            “You already know my name. I’m twenty-two and currently studying musical theatre at NYADA. My favorite animal is a cat and I think you’re pretty hot yourself, Cecil Rogers.”

            Cecil took a swig of his beer. “Cat-lover, eh? Have I made the mistake of sending a  _cat-lover_  free drinks? Oh, dear, Kurt Hummel, I do believe you’ll have to make this incident up to me.”

            Kurt leaned forward. God, he loved flirting. “And how do I do that?” he whispered.

            Cecil licked his lips. “Dance with me.”

            Kurt pretended to contemplate his offer. “I suppose if it suffices for all those lovely drinks. But only one dance.”

            ‘One dance’ quickly escalated into ten, which then turned into endless hours of twirling about the floor. Kurt found himself pressed up against Cecil’s muscular form, conscious only of the pair of lips on his neck and the pounding music sparking his movements. He was certain Santana and Rachel had left awhile ago, but he couldn’t find the energy to care. Cecil was all that mattered now. Cecil.

            The world spun around him, the walls blending together in a dizzying blur of colors. His legs felt like jelly and he kept tripping over his own shoes, but then a pair of strong hands would steady him and keep pushing him along. Kurt wanted to ask where they were going; wanted to tell the person that he was sleepy, but his tongue refused to cooperate and his lips were numb.

            The ground tilted suddenly and then disappeared entirely as Kurt fell onto something soft.  _This is nice,_ he thought,  _I think I’ll stay here a while._ The sky above him was white, like a…like a marshmallow. Kurt loved marshmallows.

            No, that wasn’t the sky. It looked more like a ceiling. Kurt felt sad. Where was the real sky? The one that was blue and sometimes black or orange or pink or purple?

            “Kurt.” Rachel was on the ceiling.

            “What’re you doing up there?” Kurt asked with a snicker. His mouth was working again! “Hey, my mouth is working again,” he announced.

            Rachel did not appear phased by this statement. She put her hands on her hips and grimaced disapprovingly.

            “You look like Carole when Finn leaves his dirty socks on the kitchen table.”

            “I told you this would happen, didn’t I? And I’m always right.”

            “Jesus, you sound like her, too.”

            Rachel snapped her fingers at him, clearly exasperated. “You need to focus!”

            Kurt shook his head. But then he couldn’t stop shaking his head because it made his surroundings spin like a merry-go-round.

            “Son!”

            “Dad!” Kurt cried at the sight of his father, who had materialized in place of Rachel. He was glad that she was gone; he didn’t like being scolded. “I missed you, dad.”

            Burt’s expression hardened. “Rachel was right, you have got to focus. Where are you? Do you remember? What happened to you, bud?”

            Using his brain sounded like too much work, Kurt decided, so he just smiled. His face was tingly. “Was I at the dentist?”

            “No, son.” Burt sighed.  _“Think.”_

Kurt closed his eyes and tried to remember so his dad wouldn’t be mad at him anymore.

Why was everyone so angry with him lately?  _Chaos._  The world fluttered through his mind. “Chaos!” he uttered triumphantly, but when he opened his eyes, his dad was gone and Santana was pacing back and forth.    

            “He seemed so nice. If I’d known—If I’d just realized—“ she hissed between clenched teeth. She turned to him and her shoulders slumped. “Please, Kurt, you’ve got to snap out of it before he hurts you. Chaos, think, what does that mean?”

            Kurt was tired of thinking. In fact, he was just tired. Talking to people on the ceiling took a lot of energy. Was he floating? It felt like he was floating. “It’s a club,” he murmured. Everything began to spin again.

            “Yes!” Santana shrieked, jolting him out of his daze. “Go on!”

            “Cecil,” he said confidently. “There was someone name Cecil, though I can’t imagine why. Cecil sounds like the name of a radio broadcaster.”

            “And what were you doing with Cecil?” Santana pressed on.

            “Is there a prize if I guess the right answer?” Kurt wanted to know.

            Santana threw her hands up in the air. “Yes, sure, just hurry up.”

            “We were dancing.” He struggled to make sense of the fuzzy images flashing through his mind. “I—I had a drink. Or five. I don’t remember. They were delicious. Can I have another?”

            “No,” she quipped. “Where is Cecil now?” God, why was she asking so many questions?

            “I don’t know. If I’m at home now, then—“

            “You’re not at home, Kurtikins.”

            He knew that voice; he hated that voice. “Go away, Aaron. I don’t want to see you. I want to go to bed.” He tried to roll over, but his body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

            “I can’t, I’m in your head. And you can’t go to sleep, you’re not at home. Wake up, Kurt, you have to get out of here,” Aaron said in that sickeningly steady tone of his.

            “Get out of where?” he demanded. “Everyone keeps saying that something’s happening, but I don’t understand what.”

            Aaron brushed his blond hair out of his eyes and chewed his bottom lip. “ _Focus._  Focus on what’s around you? Where are you?”

            Kurt took a deep breath and attempted to concentrate. He was lying on something soft—a bed? And there, behind Aaron, that was a ceiling. There was silence—no, there was a faint rustling and someone was breathing. His limbs felt as if they had been tied down, and his neck flopped uselessly when he went to lift it. He couldn’t feel his lower half at all, except for a strange prickling sensation in his calves. Everything started to swim again and he emitted a soft groan.

            “Why are you making me do this? It hurts to use my brain,” he whined. For goodness sake, why wouldn’t they just let him sleep already?

            “There’s somebody with you.”  _Shut up, Aaron._  “What’s he doing?”

            “I—I—“ Kurt heard him breathing, heavy and hard. “Breathing, he’s breathing.”

            “Is he touching you?”

            Kurt’s heart thumped deafeningly in his chest as he realized exactly what was going on. There was a person—Cecil—fumbling with the belt on his pants. He wanted to buck his hips, to twist out of his grasp, but he couldn’t move.  _He couldn’t move._ His silent scream echoed in his mind, restrained by lips that refused to open.

            He looked to the ceiling, desperate to see someone— _anyone;_ Rachel, his dad, Santana, even Aaron—but it remained a blank canvas. This was it. Tears slipped hotly down his cheeks. He’d been so stupid—so naïve to believe anyone had actually wanted him for anything other than this.

            “Kurt.”

            “Blaine,” he choked out.

            His expression was pained, creases lining his sad hazel eyes which peered down at him sympathetically. “You have to move, you have to get out,” he told him.

            Kurt released a broken sob. “ _I can’t,_ he drugged me. How could I have been so stupid?”

            Blaine reached down and cupped his face. Kurt could almost feel the tender, warm pressure of his palms along his jaw line. “You can do this. Take a deep breath and try to move your fingers and your toes. The drugs should be wearing off any minute.  _You can do this.”_

            Kurt wiggled his fingers. The joints ached in protest, the tips of his fingers feeling so swollen and heavy that he could barely summon the will to lift them. But he did. Confined by the black suede shoes he’d spent so much time picking out, his toes wiggled weakly at the base of the mattress.

            He gasped in faint relief and looked back to Blaine for guidance. “I can move them—barely. What now? Oh, god, what now?” he asked anxiously.

            “I can’t help you anymore, you have to do this yourself,” Blaine whispered.

            Kurt could hardly breathe. “No, no, no, please don’t leave me. I can’t do this alone,” he begged.

            Blaine only shook his head, leaning down and pressing an invisible kiss to Kurt’s sweat-beaded forehead. “But, my love,” he said quietly, “you’ve been doing this alone all along.”

            With that, Blaine disappeared and Kurt was left truly alone. He allowed himself two shaky inhalations through his nose and forced his mind to work. He was Kurt Hummel and there was no way in hell that he was going to lay here like a rock and let someone touch him.

            Gradually, the world grew less blurred as Kurt bent his knees and tilted his shoulders. He could see Cecil clearly now, his dark blue eyes shaded as he worked on the task at hand. Kurt had never been more appreciative of his skinny jeans.

            A low moan escaped him and Cecil’s attention lurched up at him. He cursed under his breath, climbing fully up on the bed and straddling Kurt’s waist. The mattress dipped beneath him and the weight of Cecil on his hips threatened to drag him downward.

            Cecil reached behind him and produced a thin syringe filled with a sickeningly yellow liquid. Kurt tried to inch back, but Cecil only pressed further into him. “You weren’t supposed to wake up,” he muttered as he fiddled with the tool.

            “No, get off,” Kurt growled. Even speaking drained him.

            “Just lie still and it’ll all be over,” Cecil said soothingly, displaying one of his charismatic grins.

            Kurt bit the inside of his cheek so hard that he tasted metallic blood on his tongue. “Let me go!” he shouted. There had to be at least one person nearby that would hear his estranged cries for help. “Please!”

            “Stop being such a pussy,” snarled Cecil, grabbing him by the throat and ripping his head to the side in order to expose the flesh on his neck.

            Kurt kicked his legs as much as they would allow and squirmed desperately. He needed a weapon, something to defend himself, since Cecil’s strength outmatched him. To the right, he could see a small wooden nightstand topped with a decorative lamp.  _A lamp._

            Cecil put the needle between his teeth, pulling down the collar of Kurt’s shirt, as Kurt reached his arm out towards the lamp. If he could just reach it—

            He grabbed it by the ceramic base and in one strong swing, he cracked Cecil on the back of the head with it. Cecil looked at him, features contorted in pain, before he slipped off of Kurt and fell onto the space beside him. It hadn’t been enough to knock him out, but it was certainly enough for Kurt to get the fuck out of there.

            His feet felt inflated, like large sacks of air, as he wobbled his way to the door. The room was dark, illuminated barely by the leftover Christmas lights strung along the ceiling and the light coming from underneath the door. His fingers wrestled with the knob before he wrenched the door open and fumbled into the hallway.

            Kurt realized they were still in the club, thankfully, as he strode weakly along the passage and onto the deserted dance floor. Cecil had taken him into one of the backrooms. The abandoned drinks on the counter made his stomach clench and he keeled over and promptly vomited onto the confetti-strewn ground.

            He found a phone booth outside of the club. The streets were mostly vacant, filled with the occasional screech of a siren or crash from an alleyway. A light snow had begun to fall, dusting everything within sight in delicate, crystallized snowflakes.

             His hand shook so hard that he could barely dial the number. Only after it rang a few times did Kurt recognize who he was calling.  _“This is Blaine. Leave a message after the beep.”_

            Kurt exhaled, closing his eyes and summoning his courage. “It’s…” He sounded so wrecked. “It’s Kurt. I’m at a club on fifty-fourth street—fuck, it was a mistake to come—I…I’m alone. I’ve been alone. God, I can’t focus.” He rubbed his temples wearily. “There was this guy and he tried to…he tried to…”  _He tried to rape me._ “And it just made me realize that…I need you, Blaine. And I—I love you. And I’m s _orry_ for everything I’ve ever gone, I’m so sorry—“

            A sob fell from his lips, loud and out-of-place on the peaceful streets. “I should call Rachel to p-pick me up,” he stammered. “But I-I…Thank you.”          

            With that, Kurt hung up and leaned back against the brick wall of the building. The snow washed the tears from his cheeks and soothed the bruises that throbbed on his wrists and shoulders. But the snow could not take away Cecil. And it could not take away the pain left behind. 


	20. No Escape From The Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for past mentions of sexual assault/rape, and panic attacks. Happy Easter to those who celebrate it and happy Sunday to those who don’t! This will probably be the last angst-y chapter for a while. Writing such a sensitive topic is tough and I want to give all of you incredible readers a break. Thanks to everyone who continues to read and review! The song used this chapter is Love Like a War by All Time Low. Have a great weekend and enjoy!

_Fail-safe trigger, lock-down call,_

_Wipe the dry clean-slate, quick, sound the alarm,_

**_No escape from the truth_ ** _and the weight of it all._

_I am caught in the web of a lie._

            It had been four hours. Four hours since he’d been pinned to a filthy mattress beneath a set of heavy hips. Four hours since he’d screamed for help, his throat raw and his eyes stinging. Four hours since he’d dreamed of Blaine and stumbled his way out of Chaos as the world spiraled around him. Four hours.

            Rachel had picked him up in a taxi around 4:30 in the morning, dressed in her pink floral pajamas and half-loose curlers hanging in her hair. The car ride back to their apartment was silent, save for the muffled, estranged sobs that tore their way from Kurt’s mouth despite his attempts to keep quiet. He knew that Rachel had guessed what happened—he could see it in her terrified eyes—but he strode into his room without comment and ignored her pleas for him to talk to her.

            He sat on the couch for a while, wringing his steady hands together and focusing on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Kurt didn’t quite remember stumbling his way to the shower, or turning on the faucet, or curling up on the floor of the tub. He squeezed his eyes shut and let the stream of cool water wash over him, rinsing away the scent of alcohol and the dirt on his skin.

            Eventually, he started to scrub at his arms and legs. There was a line of purpling bruises along his hipbones and wrists, as well as red marks where Cecil’s fingers had grabbed at his neck.  _Branded_. He ignored the pain as he desperately drove the sponge into his flesh, wanting— _needing—_ to erase the horrible feeling of Cecil’s roaming hands from his body.

            The images just kept flashing through his mind like a slideshow; the stark white of the empty ceiling, the unidentifiable brown-yellow stains blotting the bed, Cecil’s once kind blue eyes glassy with desire. His stomach twisted agonizingly.

             _Used, object, tainted._  That was all anyone had wanted him for; that’s all anyone would ever want him for. He was a sex toy. Nobody loved him. Nobody would ever love him after this.  _Faggot, lady, homo._ God, he’d been so fucking foolish and naive. Why hadn’t he just listened to Rachel? Was he really so blind that he missed the warning signs?  _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Kurt barely made it to the toilet before he was retching into the basin. Naked and dripping onto the tile, Kurt inhaled shakily through his nose and back out again, struggling to regain control. The sound of water hitting marble was the only sound, save for his deafening heartbeat.

            He’d been touched. He’d been drugged. He’d been  _this close_  to getting raped. Kurt vomited again. _No, no, no, this can’t be real._ He flopped backward and put his head between his knees.  _Please just make this stop._

            Somehow, when he had nothing left to throw up, Kurt drifted asleep to the rhythm of the still-running shower. His body’s sheer exhaustion finally caught up to him and he dreamt only of an empty blackness, free of stress and pain. When he finally woke up, he turned off the shower with weak hands and crawled shakily to the bedroom.

            The drugs wore off a while ago, but he buzzed with the aftershocks of the alcohol. The faint afternoon light bleeding through the blinds caused him to groan as he wearily dragged on a pair of boxers and slipped into bed. His head throbbed, his limbs ached, and his damp hair was soaking his pillow.

            His phone dinged with a text message from his nightstand, blaring out into the silence of his bedroom like a siren. He grabbed it, hissing between clenched teeth at the brightness of his screen.  _Kurt? Are you okay? I just heard my voicemail and you said something about a guy. What happened? Please tell me you’re okay and not laying in some alley somewhere. Please be okay. –B_

Blaine. Kurt vaguely remembered calling Blaine last night at the telephone booth outside of Chaos. Exactly how much had he said? If Blaine knew what Cecil had done…Kurt swallowed hard and tapped out a reply.  _I’m alright. Sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to bother you. –K._

The next message came barely a minute later.  _Kurt, you didn’t bother me at all. Are. You Okay? You didn’t sound okay last night. –B_  He felt bile rise up in the back of his throat again. This was Blaine. He couldn’t lie to him, but he couldn’t tell him the truth either.

             _You made me okay. You saved me. –K._ That was some of the truth, at least. Kurt’s hallucination of Blaine had been what shook him out of his drugged-up haze.

             _What do you mean I saved you? –B_

 _You just appeared you woke me up and I got out of there before anything happened. –K._  Kurt pictured the way Blaine’s eyebrows would knit together in confusion and his lips would purse. He sounded like a fucking crazy person.

             _I appeared? Did he drug you? How high were you last night? Are you high now? –B._ Blaine sounded so concerned—so worried—that Kurt’s heart gave a little pang. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in his embrace and tell him about everything that happened. But he couldn’t.

             _I drank a little to help me sleep but I’m not sleeping now because you texted me. –K._ It felt better to lie, to pretend that he was drunk, then to type out the words he had yet to process himself.

             _Should I let you sleep, then? God, I’m so sorry I’m such an idiot. –B._

             _Stop saying that stop fucking putting yourself down. Can’t you see that I think you’re perfect? –K._

_Kurt. –B._

_You make everything better and you’re always there when I need you the most. Blaine, you saved me when nobody else could. –K._ Kurt wiped his tear-stained cheeks on the back of his hand. He wanted to reach through his phone and show him exactly what he meant.

             _I’m so sorry I’ve been so stupid. I’m so, so sorry. I thought you wanted nothing to do with me. I thought you ran right back to your fiancé because you didn’t want me. –B._ Aaron?

             _I’m done with Aaron. For good. I’m interested in someone else now. –K._

 _Oh. –B_ Kurt’s lips split into a small smile. Blaine was so oblivious at times.

             _Can we get together soon? I need to see you. –K._

_I want to thank you in person. –K._

_How about New Years? Can we do New Years? –B._ Kurt felt excitement swell within him. He was going to see Blaine again; really see him with no interferences. Blaine would fix everything.

             _Yes god yes. –K._

_Where? –B._

_I can see if Rachel will throw another party? –K._

_No offence, but I don’t know if I want to try and handle Rachel. –B._ Kurt chuckled softly.

             _Where did you have in mind? –K._

 _We could go the piano bar? –B._ Kurt recalled Rachel ranting about a bar Christian owned.

_Okay. And then we can watch the ball drop together. Just like old times. –K_

_Just like old times. I’m looking forward to it. –B._

_Me too. –K._

_And Kurt? –B._

_Yes, Blaine? –K._

_I love you so much and I’m so glad that you’re okay. –B_

_I love you, too. –K._ Kurt fell asleep with the words balanced on the tip of his tongue and a foreign warmth in the pit of his stomach.

 

             _“Just hold still,” Cecil growled, his hot breath beating against Kurt’s exposed collar bone._

_“Please let me go,” Kurt cried, writhing underneath the pair of iron arms that pressed him down hard._

_Cecil bent and began sucking at Kurt’s neck, ignoring the way he squirmed in earnest. “You’re going to get what’s coming to you. You deserve this. You’re nothing but a faggot whore hungry for my cock.” He pressed his finger against Kurt’s lips and hushed him. “Don’t deny it, Kurt, you know you want it.”_

_Kurt screamed, thrashing violently. “Where’s your Blaine now, huh?” Cecil whispered menacingly. “He doesn’t love you. He never loved you. You’re_ mine _now, little bitch.”_

_Cecil started grinding his hips down in slow circles. Kurt couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t move. He tried to scream again, but the sound was trapped in his throat._

 

Kurt lurched up, tangled in the mess of sweat-soaked sheets. His chest heaved with each strangled breath he took. He was shaking so hard that the worn bedposts began to squeak.  _It’s not real, it’s just a dream. It’s not real._

He got dressed quickly, throwing on a pair of jeans and sweatshirt and heading downstairs. He needed to get out of that damned apartment and clear his mind before he suffocated. The sky was a blur of pastel colors, surprisingly clear compared to the snow storm New York had been suffering through the past few weeks. He’d slept virtually the entire night and half of yesterday.

            The streets were crowded with people bustling to work and early bird tourists who wanted to visit hot spots before everyone else. Kurt stuffed his hands in his pockets and strode quickly with his head down. He wasn’t sure where he was going or why, but he wanted to get as far away from everything as possible.

            He tried to focus on Blaine. They were going to see each other tomorrow night. Kurt’s stomach swooped anxiously. He wouldn’t let anyone come between them this time—no matter what the cost was.

            A man bumped into his shoulder, turning him roughly to the side and causing him to cry out and jerk away. The man glared at him with scrutinizing eyes. “Watch it, buddy,” he snapped before continuing on.

            Kurt’s arm stung like he’d been given a shot.  _Cecil’s fingers lightly traced the veins on his forearm as he leaned in and nipped at Kurt’s earlobe. “You smell so good,” he purred._ Kurt shook his head and slapped his hands over his ears.  _Get out of my head._

Another person bumped into him, yelling for him to wake the fuck up and move, bitch, and he resisted the urge to whimper. The swarm of people was only getting thicker as he treaded forward, forcing himself to keep moving.

            “Don’t touch me,” Kurt exclaimed to no one in particular, receiving several weird looks from those around him. The panic was starting to set in.

            It was then that Kurt saw him, above the heads of civilians, with his long, dark hair and piercing eyes. He froze, back rigid and heart halted in his chest.  _Cecil._ He tripped backward, falling over his own feet in an effort to get away without taking his gaze off of the other man.

            “What the hell are you doing, buster? Move!” Somebody shoved him out of the way and Kurt was on the wet pavement, but he didn’t care. Cecil was all that he could see.

            “Crazy asshole, get out of the way!”

            Cecil was striding towards him. Kurt knew he was coming to finish what he started. Somebody was shrieking and it took Kurt a minute to realize the sound was coming from him. Cecil was next to him, and behind and in front and a mile away and above and below and everywhere. His knees scraped against the sidewalk as he scrambled into the closest open doorway.  _Get away, get away, get away._

            He was still screeching; a horrible, awful sound that turned the heads of everyone within the perimeter. People were rushing toward him, holding out hands to help him up but he flattened himself against the wall. “Don’t touch me!” he shouted. “Get away! Get away!”

            Everything was swimming around him. He couldn’t think. Cecil was going to get him and hurt him and touch him and everyone else was going to touch him and he was so fucking stupid and they were going to touch him.  _Don’t touch me, don’t touch me._

“Kurt! Kurt, calm down.” It was Christian, with a bagel in one hand and the other reaching out, but Kurt inched back further. “You need to breathe. You’re okay. Nobody is going to touch you.”

            Kurt panted, the world blurring as he struggled for air. “I—can’t—“ he choked, weaving his fingers through his hair and pulling hard as if the pain would make it all stop. “He’s going to get me—t-touch me—“

            “Hey, hey, look at me.” Christian waved his hand in front of Kurt’s face and he looked up, focusing on the pale blue of his eyes that stared back, concerned. “I need you to sit up and put your hands on your stomach and breathe down into them. Can you do that for me?”

            He was trembling so much that he nearly fell over when he attempted to follow Christian’s direction. He gripped his abdomen and inhaled slowly, feeling his diaphragm expand and then sink as he exhaled.  _It will be okay. Nobody’s going to touch you._ “I-I’m s-s-sorry,” Kurt stammered. He was so fucking weak and stupid. He  _hated_ the way his voice cracked; hated the way tears raced down his cheeks and plopped down onto his drenched sweater.

            “Hey, no. Don’t be sorry. You’re okay. You’re breathing. You’re  _okay.”_ Christian crossed his legs and sat on the floor in front of him, watching Kurt’s expression as if he was a ticking bomb.

            Kurt avoided his gaze, glaring instead at the faded blue-green tile of the café. He could feel the terrified looks of the customers burning into him. Embarrassment flooded through him.“Everyone’s staring,” he whispered. “Don’t let them touch me.”  _Don’t touch me, he’s going to touch me._

            “Kurt, they aren’t going to touch you. I promise.”

            Kurt nodded, mentally assuring himself that Christian wouldn’t lie to him. “He’s not here, is he?” he asked quietly. “If he sees me, he’ll try again. I know he followed me, I saw him.”

            “Who followed you? Try what again? What happened?” Christian demanded. He scanned the room, fixing each observer with eyes that clearly said ‘back off’.

            A strangled wail left his lips before he could stop it. “Don’t make me say it, please. Please, please don’t make me say it.” He tucked his head between his knees, breathing erratic once more.

            “Kurt. Kurt, you’re okay. He’s not here. He’s not going to go near you. You don’t have to say anything. Breathe,” Christian murmured soothingly.

            Kurt put his hands on the ground and positioned himself so he was on all fours. “I’m going to stand up,” he told Christian, staring pointedly at him to back away.  _Don’t touch me, don’t touch me._

            Christian got up, taking a step away and watching as Kurt gripped a nearby table and rose unsteadily to his feet. His heart pounded in his ears like a drum. God, he just wanted to get out.  _Freak, idiot, stupid._ “Can…Can you take me home, please?”

            Christian smiled sympathetically at him. “Of course. I’ll call us a taxi.”

            Kurt waited for Christian to ask him questions during the awkward ride back to his apartment. He waited for Christian to stare at him like the freak he was, like everyone else, but Christian simply stared stoically out his window, tapping his fingers to the beat of a song on the radio. Kurt appreciated Christian more than ever in that moment.

            “Thank you,” Kurt said when he got out of the car and paused before closing the door.

            Christian shrugged. “Don’t mention it,” he replied lightly.   

            “No, Christian— _thank you_.”

            “You’re welcome, Kurt. Call me if this happens again, okay?”

            Kurt mustered up a half-smile. “I will.” He hesitated and turned to Christian for the last time. “Please don’t tell Blaine about this. I don’t…I don’t want him to worry.”

            Christian’s brow creased like he wanted to argue, but he conceded. “I won’t.”

            Kurt gave a small wave before retreating back into his building. His entire body felt like one giant bruise, his face was sticky with tears, his clothes were a mess, he flinched at any sudden noise, and he felt broken beyond repair. But everything would be okay because he was going to see Blaine. 


	21. You're My End and My Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for past mentions of rape, self-harm and panic attacks. Well, it's the twenty-first chapter and because this is such a significant number for Klainers, my amazing co-author and I decided to give you a treat. And in honor of the recent spoilers about someone singing a certain special song, we used All of Me by John Legend in this chapter. Thoughts, suggestions and constructive criticisms are always welcome! You can message me on fanfiction (TheyCantTouchUsOrWhatWeHave), scarvesandcoffee (coffeebeanklaine) or Tumblr (coffeebeanklaine). Enjoy!

_Give your all to me,_ __  
I'll give my all to you.  
 **You're my end and my beginning,**  
Even when I lose I'm winning,  
Cause I give you all of me,  
And you give me all of you.

            Kurt didn't sleep. He knew that the nightmares would just return, shaking him awake and reminding him of the cold harshness that was his new reality. So, he curled up on the couch in a pile of blankets and watched  _Breakfast at Tiffany's_  exactly seven times; pausing it to brew a fresh pot of coffee or go to the bathroom occasionally. Only the thought of Blaine soothed his nerves when Cecil's face flashed through his mind, and kept his spirits up when his sobs drowned out the television.

            Around four thirty in the afternoon, Kurt dragged himself off the sofa and into the bathroom. He scrutinized his reflection, frowning at the dark circles that hung underneath his empty eyes like a raccoon's and the dried sores that scarred his bottom lip. The bruises on his neck and wrists had turned a sickly indigo color-he would have to cover those up somehow-and his hair was so knotted it looked like a rat's nest. He was a wreck. But he was going to see Blaine.

            The scalding streams of his shower did little to calm the burn of his aching muscles. He scrubbed almost mindlessly at his skin, blasting Lady Gaga to quiet the thoughts that would not stop racing through his head. When Kurt got out of the shower, he took his time picking the perfect outfit. In the end, he decided on a gold button-down and a pair of black jeans that didn't hug his tender ass too hard. He threw on a matching scarf to hide the marks and combed his hair to the side.

            Blaine texted him an hour through his vigorous skin routine, the vibrations of his phone causing him to jump and spill half a bottle of toner all over the tile.  _Hey, what time are we meeting? -B_

            Kurt dried his hands on a towel before tapping out his reply.  _10:30?-K_

_Sounds great. See you then. -B._  Kurt grinned happily down at his phone. Blaine was excited to see him.

             _See you then. -K._

 

            Kurt paced back and forth anxiously outside of Rachel and Santana's apartment. He hadn't spoken to them since the night at the club, and ignored Santana's concerned text messages and Rachel's heart-shaped notes left at his doorstep. Once again, he'd been selfish and a horrible friend to the two people who'd been his anchor. He only called on them when he needed them-and he needed their help now.

            He knocked gently and held his breath. Part of him wanted to ask them to come with him. The annoying voice in the back of his mind would not shut up- _people are going to touch you. They're going to trap you and touch you and you won't be able to escape. Cecil will be there. He's looking for you. He wants to finish what he started._  But he knew he wouldn't be able to explain why.

            Santana opened the door. Immediately, her nose scrunched up at the sight of him and she crossed her arms over her cleavage, turning around and striding back into the living room. "Rachel, Princess Ice has arrived."       

            Kurt sighed and closed the door behind him. Santana plopped down on the couch, tossing her hair over her shoulder dramatically and fixating him with a hard glare. Rachel walked out of the hallway, just as angry as Santana. She plopped down next to her and motioned to Kurt. "Well, go ahead. We've got five minutes until we have to catch the A Train to Times Square, so make your apology speech quick."

            Kurt cleared his throat. It was like he was back in his sophomore debate class. "I'm really sorry. A lot of things have happened since t-that night and I've been...preoccupied," he said slowly, choosing his words with care.

            Rachel leaned forward, her gaze morphing from rage to sympathy. "What exactly happened? One minute you were flirting with some guy and the next you were grinding all over him." Kurt's stomach churned sickeningly. "And then you called me at four in the morning crying and wouldn't say a word!"

            Kurt felt the familiar sting of panic settling over him and he squeezed his eyes shut, taking several long breaths through his nose. "I got really drunk and fell asleep in some back room," he answered shakily.

            "We're your best friends, Kurt, you can tell us anything." Rachel reached for his wrist and Kurt flinched away.

            He plastered a smile on his face and shook his head a bit too enthusiastically. "Everything's fine. Can I borrow some concealer, please? I have a date with Blaine a half hour and I don't want to be late."

            Santana scoffed loudly. "You have  _got_  to be kidding me! Blaine? Again? I thought you were done with him," she cried, standing up and nearly towering over him.

            "I  _love_ him," Kurt protested.

            She rolled her eyes. "Oh, you ‘love' him? Are you really in love with him or do you just love the idea of fixing someone since you're clearly unable to fix yourself?"

            Santana's words stung more than they should've and Kurt furiously blinked back hot tears. She sighed, her shoulders slumping and her eyes turning from liquid fire to pity. "I'm sorry, okay? But it's the cold ass truth and someone had to say it. For months you've been chasing after him and it's gotten you nowhere. You gave up everything for this guy-someone you haven't seen in god knows how many years-and did you ever stop to think about what he gave up for you? Because if I can recall correctly, you've given up your fiancé, your perfect fairytale life, your career, your peace of mind, your friendships and Blaine hasn't sacrificed a single damn thing." She stretched out her arm to comfort him but Kurt jerked away, stumbling backward and jamming his elbow into a nearby bookshelf.

            Santana squinted, gaze raking over his features as if searching for a crack in his porcelain shell. "What  _happened_ to you?" she asked in a tone so soft it startled him.

            He swallowed uncomfortably, massaging his injured elbow. "I really have to go," he murmured, barely audible over his own labored breathing.

            "I'll get the makeup," Rachel announced, shattering the tension that hung throughout the room as she hurried away.

            Kurt's cheeks began to burn when Santana's stare did not lift, her lips pursing and eyebrows furrowed. He said a quick thank you to Rachel when she returned and bid them a happy New Year before going back to his own apartment.

            Deep down, despite his heart's refusals, Kurt knew that part of what Santana had said was true. Kurt had given up a lot just to help Blaine and now he was at the worst place he'd ever been in his life. He couldn't help but wonder what he would've been like if he'd simply accepted the stupid proposal in the first place. Certainly not dabbing concealer on his cheeks in the dim lighting of his freezing entryway, that was for sure.

            Kurt eliminated any doubts he had with a determined clench of his fists. There was no undoing the past; he'd learned that the hard way. So he was going to count his blessings, no matter how small, and go meet Blaine, even if it killed him. And it just might.

 

            Kurt hailed a taxi and arrived at the piano bar on 49th street at exactly 10:29pm. He did a quick sweep over the heads of the bar's occupants before settling into a stool along the bar. The sight of people dancing along with the strong scent of alcohol and flashing lights made his stomach knot and bile rise in the back of his throat. He was here for Blaine, he kept reminding himself as he pressed further away from anyone who came near him.  _Blaine._

10:40 rolled along and Kurt started to get worried. Blaine wasn't here because Kurt had fucked up once again, somehow, and scared him away. He was a fuck-up, that was all he was good for. Kurt put his head in his hands and groaned.

            At 10:53, Kurt got up to leave. He inched past the group of dancers and made a beeline for the door.  _Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry._

Blaine burst through the door barely a second before Kurt pushed it open. He was flushed, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead, and his hair a disheveled mess atop his head. Kurt grinned sheepishly. "You came." The words were out before he could stop them, sounding entirely too needy and desperate, but Blaine's lips twitched up into a matching smile.

            "Yeah, I did," he breathed out.

            "I-I'm glad you did."

            "Me too." Blaine took a step forward and for the first time, Kurt didn't take a mirroring step backward. "You, uh...you look good. Can we go get a drink or dance or something?" he wanted to know, hazel eyes bright as they flickered over his body.

            Kurt nervously gnawed at the inside of his cheek. "Yes. That sounds great."

            Hesitantly, Blaine held out his hand in a silent offering. Kurt froze, staring down at the hand he had held so many times before; the hand that had been interlocked with his own, the hand that had held his head in place while their lips met, the hand that had fumbled with the buttons on his shirt before skimming, light and graceful, over the skin of his abdomen. Kurt grabbed it. It felt so familiar and natural-immensely different from any way Aaron had ever felt. Yes, this was right.

            They made their way towards the bar. Kurt took a deep breath, glancing over at Blaine out of the corner of his eye. "I-can I just get a nonalcoholic Shirley Temple, please?" he asked the bartender.  _I'm such an idiot. Blaine is going to know something is up. Stupid, fucking twat._

"Just a plain daiquiri, please."

            They sat down, fingers still intertwined across the smeared and somewhat sticky surface of the counter.  _Should I let go of his hand? God, I'm probably so sweaty and gross. Shit, shit, he's staring. Say something._ "How've you been?" Kurt blurted out.

            "Hmm?" Blaine turned toward him abruptly, lost in his own thoughts. "Oh, uh. Good. Good. I've been good. You?"

            Kurt took a slow sip of his drink before nodding. "I'm good...I'm good." He motioned towards the dance floor. "Do you...You wouldn't want to dance, would you?" It was bold and most likely an unwise decision, but they needed to loosen up if they hoped to get anywhere tonight.

            "I'd love to."

 

            Kurt grabbed Blaine by the wrist, smirking coyly as he dragged him back to their awaiting drinks a mere thirty minutes later. For the first time since before Chaos, Kurt's body ached in a way that he welcomed. The energetic beat of the music still pumped through his veins, causing elation to explode in his chest like fireworks. "It's 11:35," he declared after checking the time on his phone. "We still have a bit until midnight."

            Blaine chuckled fondly at him. "You always get so excited on New Year's."

            "How could anyone  _not_ get excited about New Year's? It's saying goodbye to the mistakes of last year and welcoming the next. It's like a fresh start." And he really needed a fresh start.

            "You're ridiculous," Blaine remarked, once again offering Kurt his arm.

            Kurt lifted to meet Blaine when he saw them; neat, red gashes that split the tender skin of his forearm and crisscrossed their way up into Blaine's sleeve. He could hardly process what he was seeing. Cuts. He had known that Blaine self-harmed but he hadn't known just how bad it really looked.  Before he could stop himself, he was pulling up the sleeve of Blaine's right arm and further exposing the cuts. "You weren't supposed to see those."

 Kurt choked, leaning in and stopping when Blaine pointedly moved away. "Why would you do this? I thought...things were getting better," he said, his voice wavering with every word.

            "They were. They were getting better and then they weren't and I did some really stupid things and this was one of them," Blaine rambled, looking anywhere but at Kurt.

            Kurt felt his heart break. He had to help, to fix. "That's okay-it's okay-I can make it all better-"

            "No, Kurt!" Blaine shouted, alarming several of the people around them. "You can't make it all better. Some things just don't go away. You were a part of the problem this time; you  _left_ me there like I was nothing and ran back to that stupid guy and sure I know that you don't care about him now but I didn't know that then and it  _hurt me_ , Kurt. It hurt a lot."

            No, no he couldn't deal with this. Not today. Not now. Blaine was broken, yes, but Kurt was too and Blaine needed realize everything Kurt had done in order to be with him. "I told you, that was an  _emergency._  Aaron drove his fucking car into a semi truck because of us! I _ruined_ him and I ruined you and I'm sorry if you wanted my undivided attention, but you're just going to have to wait in line behind all the other people I've ruined."

            "I didn't want your undivided attention for God's sake, I wanted- _needed_  you to tell me that you still wanted me and that I wasn't just...cold coffee!"

            Kurt almost laughed at the situation. He'd assured himself over a dozen times that this night would be perfect and yet here they were, arguing in the middle of a piano bar less than forty minutes away from midnight on New Year's Eve. He threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. "How many times do I have to say it? I tracked you down to try and help you, I broke up with my fiancé so I could visit you in the hospital, I respected your space and left you alone for weeks when you asked me to, I took away your self-harm tools so you couldn't hurt yourself, I waited at a coffee shop for four hours and I showed up tonight-after everything's that's happened to me-and you still don't think  _I_ love _you?_ "

            "I have been trying to get better for you! Believe it or not, I sacrificed a lot, too." Santana's words rang through his ears on nonstop repeat. "Maybe you shouldn't have tracked me down or took away  _my_ things; my  _personal belongings._ Maybe you should never have even come and helped me up off the floor of the bar that night in the bar because then none of this would have happened. I stopped doing drugs for  _you_ , I tried so hard to stop self-harming over  _you_  and I did it, I managed. This time it was because of myself. God, I slept with _Sebastian_ of all people just because I thought you didn't want me."

            The oxygen was sucked out of Kurt's lungs at that name-that fucking name. "Sebastian? You slept with Sebastian? Sebastian Smythe?" He collapsed onto one of the stools. How was that even possible? Sebastian was like the universe's sick joke on them.

            Blaine ran his hands over his face and exhaled. "You barely even gave me a second chance. You just leapt out of your chair and ran out the door and said something about the man I saw as your fiancé and you were gone." It was sounding more and more like an excuse with everything he uttered.

            "I said I was sorry. And I'm fucking tired of saying I'm sorry. While you were off sleeping with Sebastian, I was-I-" Kurt shut his mouth and shook his head.  _Idiot. He'll never love you if he knows._ "You know what? It doesn't matter. It's not like we're dating. We don't have some stupid obligation to each other. Why'd you even show up tonight, huh? To make me feel even worse about myself? Because I'm pretty sure there's no way to make me feel lower than I feel now," Kurt practically spat. Sebastian was the last goddamn straw and Kurt was done; he was  _done._

            "Fine. Just fine. If that's the way you think I make you feel, take a look at me because I promise I'm not any better off." Blaine gnashed his teeth together, gathering his bearings before turning on his heel and heading towards the exit. "I hope you enjoy the rest of your night. Next time, don't try to play the knight in shining armor if you don't have the sword to slay the dragon."

            Kurt dug his nails into his palm and hissed. This was all so stupid and it was his fault and why didn't he have the balls to fix this? Blaine was getting farther and farther away and pretty soon Kurt knew he would lose him entirely. He had lost so much already and he wasn't about to give up the one thing that grounded him to this godforsaken earth, even if it meant the loss of his dignity.

            But this wasn't about who had lost more or who had gained the most; this was about two people finding themselves in the city of romance and Kurt be damned if he let his one shot at romance slip through his fingers.

            Kurt was up and running towards the mini stage at the front of the crowd before he knew what was happening, pushing the frazzled DJ aside and gripping the mic with trembling hands. He stopped the music, turning the attention of angry people. "H-Hi. Hi, I'm Kurt Hummel and I'll be singing a song for you tonight. This is dedicated to a very special person in my life...he was my knight in shining armor when I was in high school and he still is today. He always will be. I hope...I just hope he knows that." He cleared his throat.

            His fingers found the keys he knew by heart, weaving together to create the song that always seemed to be stuck in his head.  _"You think I'm pretty, without any makeup on. You think I'm funny, when I tell the punch line wrong. I know you get me, so I let my walls come down...Down."_

Kurt ended the song with dried tears on his cheeks and his gaze locked on Blaine. "I love you," he whispered into the microphone and at the crumbled expression on Blaine's face and the hand that snapped up to cover his mouth, he knew he'd done the right thing.

            "Get off the stage!" someone yelled. Fumbling and blushing like an idiot, Kurt got down and raced over to Blaine. The loud thump of hip hop music resumed, the rhythm blasting through him and eliciting his excitement.

            "I had to stop you," Kurt said. "You really are my teenage dream."

            For a moment, everything was still. Then Blaine launched himself into Kurt's arms, tucking his nose into Kurt's neck as Kurt gripped him tightly.

            The next couple minutes were a blur. Kurt felt only the buzz of Blaine's skin on his own and rise and fall of Blaine's steady breathing. They found an unoccupied booth to curl up in, not talking but simply staring at each other.

            "Did you want to go watch the ball drop? We can walk," Blaine had wanted to know and Kurt had agreed without hesitation.

            The walk to Times Square was lazy and languid. They took their time moving in and out of the crowds of people and marveling at the glittering lights that decorated every rooftop within sight. They found a spot in view of the giant ball that dangled above the city, vibrant and luminescent against the dark sky.

            "Ready for 2017?"

            Kurt looked up at Blaine, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. "I am if you are."

            Blaine bumped his hip against Kurt's playfully. They had barely a minute left; a minute left in what had been interchangeably the best and worst year of his life. "So ready."

            "You know...You didn't say that you loved me back," Kurt pointed out quietly, glaring hard at the dirty snow beneath their feet.  _Fucking idiot, of course Blaine doesn't love you._

            Blaine twisted to stare at him, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "I do. I do love you, too. I thought you'd gathered that," he responded with a soft laugh.

            Kurt sighed happily. Everything, all the pain of the last couple months was lifted from his chest. Blaine loved him. Kurt leaned his head into Blaine's shoulder. It was all worth it. "I wanted to make sure." Twenty seconds.

            Blaine hummed in acknowledgement. Kurt nestled closer so Blaine's warmth heated the cold tip of his ear. Ten seconds. It was so close-they were so close to a new year, a new beginning to mend everything they'd broken. Nine.

            Blaine's face sparkled in the faint glow as he chimed in with the countdown."Eight."

            The scream of people was deafening, shaking the ground and vibrating through the air. Kurt turned to face Blaine, grabbing his other hand and exclaiming loudly, "Seven."

            Blaine bounced on his toes. "Six."

            Kurt leaned in. He could feel Blaine's breath beating against his cheek, and see the flecks of gold glimmering in his hazel eyes. Five.  _So close, so close, so close._ Four.  Kurt wanted nothing more than to feel Blaine's lips against his own, to explore his mouth in the ways he used to. Three.

            Blaine pressed their foreheads together, his hands moving to lightly grip Kurt's waist. Two. They were going to do it. After years and years of waiting, it was going to happen. One.

            Zero.   

            They were kissing, mouths pressed together was the rest of the world disappeared. Blaine tasted like mint and daiquiris and _home_. Kurt wrapped his arms around his neck, his fingers tangling into the soft curls at the base of his neck. Their chests pressed together, their hips aligning. There were only the two of them in the entire world.

            Kurt felt Blaine smile against his lips as he couldn't help the giggle that bubbled out of him as they broke apart and noses bumping, stared up at each other. "Happy New Year," Kurt said, pressing another quick kiss to Blaine's swollen lips.

            "Happy New Year," he replied, pecking him back lightly before pulling away.

            Kurt couldn't erase the grin from his face, looking up in awe at the buildings that stretched into the midnight sky. Confetti rained down, dousing the crowd in a shower of glimmering colors.  _Crowd._

            There were so many people, surrounding Kurt in every direction. He could he not have noticed this? They were going to touch him-they were touching him, everyone was so close and-oh, god, he couldn't breathe.  _Not here, not here. Please not here. Not in front of Blaine._

"Kurt? Kurt, are you okay? What's wrong?"

            Kurt didn't answer. There were so many people and it was so loud and he couldn't breathe. He couldn't fucking breathe. He had to get out. Frantically, Kurt spun around, desperate for a gap in the wall of people. "Move---please, move-" he gasped, clutching his stomach in the hopes it would steady his heaving chest.

            "Kurt!"

            He screamed between his teeth, half-jumping and half-tripping away from a girl who bumped into him. He fell onto the trampled snow, steadying himself on all fours and panting heavily. Blaine bent down next to him, but he inched away weakly. "Don't touch me, don't touch me. Get away, oh, god, don't."

            He was drowning. 

            


	22. I'll Be Right Beside You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for mentions of sexual assault and panic attacks. Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who reviews, reads and contacts us! We love hearing from you guys every week and always try to incorporate your suggestions. Message me (coffeebeanklaine) or my amazing co-author (kurtsontop) on Tumblr if you have any concerns, additional comments or just want to say hi! The song used this chapter is Beside You by Mariana's Trench. Please enjoy this extra special chapter.

_When your tears are spent on your last pretense,_

_And your tired eyes refuse to close and sleep in your defense._

_When it's in your spine like you've walked for miles,_

_And the only thing you want is just to be still for awhile._

_And I will hide you when it gets too much_

**_I'll be right beside you_ **

He didn't care anymore. He didn't care about the concerned gaze of onlookers, or the ice that seeped through his jeans and numbed his knees , or the pulsing pain in his palms from the fall or even Blaine's shaking hands that reached out, almost afraid to touch him; he only cared about the horrible crushing sensation in his chest that sucked every breath from his lungs and made the world spin around him in a violent whirl.

            Kurt gripped the sides of his head, pressing together hard as if that would keep his skull in one piece. "Please, please just get me out of here," he gasped between clenched teeth. " _Please._ "

            "Hey, hey, you're going to be okay. Can I touch you? Is it okay if I touch you?" Blaine's tone was soothing, almost patronizing. Kurt's hot tears splashed onto the snow as he squeezed his eyes shut and inched away further.  _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry._  "Hey, remember that time we got lost in a  _department store?_ You were freaking out. I was freaking out. It was so huge we couldn't find the exit and we were both too proud to ask for help."

            "You always-you always remember the weirdest things," he whispered, releasing a broken noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh. All too clearly, Kurt could recall the summer day six years ago when he and Blaine had indeed lost each other in Macy's; they spent half an hour winding through the endless racks of clothing, calling out the other's name and looking like complete imbeciles.

            Blaine reached his hand down to him, lips twitching up into a tentative smile. "You said that then, too, when I brought up getting lost in Wal-Mart with Cooper when I was three," he replied.

Kurt glanced up at him and sniffed. With trembling fingers, he accepted the gesture. "What is it with you and getting lost in stores?" he asked quietly, swiping his sleeve across his face. He still felt panicked,  his surroundings swaying underneath his feet and the crowd making him feel all too trapped, but he focused on the pressure of Blaine's hand and blocked out the piercing glares that burned into his back. He could do this.

"You're going to ruin your coat if you keep doing that. You'll regret it later," Blaine pointed out gently, eyes twinkling with the reflection of the lights above them. "It's a quirk. I was meant to get lost in stores; it's my birth right. Or something."

Kurt chuckled softly. It was like Blaine had some magic effect on him; not even Christian's practiced advice in the coffee shop had been able to comfort him this quickly. He was grateful for the distraction and more than happy to fall back into their usual teasing routine. "That's one of the things I loved about you." They wove carefully in and out of people, Kurt leaning as far as possible and minding where he stepped. "Still love," he said under his breath as they finally arrived at the sidewalk on the distant side of the square.

Blaine touched his wrist lightly, leading him away and lowering his voice. "Will you...Will you come home with me?" Kurt inhaled sharply, gathering the will not to wrench his hand away. This was the last thing he'd been expecting. "I just-I mean-not to like-I want to look after you. Please let me look after you."

He let go of Blaine, wrapping his arms around himself and shifting his weight from foot to foot. After everything that had just happened-Kurt's ridiculous breakdown a mere second following their first kiss in god knows how many years-Blaine still wanted to spend more time with him. "Can we go back to my apartment? It's closer and I...I want to shower," he said before he could stop himself. Perhaps spending more time with Blaine wasn't the wisest decision but he didn't want to be alone with his mind again and the visions of Cecil that would no doubt torment him through the night.

Blaine rested his hand on Kurt's shoulder almost nervously, edging forward and kissing his forehead softly. It was so quick that he wondered if it had simply been his mind's wishful thinking, but his skin tingled where Blaine's mouth had been. "Where ever you want."

They hailed a taxi-it was a miracle there were even available cabs-and arrived at Kurt's apartment after sitting uncomfortably beside each other during the expanse of the twenty minute ride. Kurt centered his thoughts on Blaine; the scent of him, the leftover snow sparkling in his curls, the anxious jiggling of his leg, the curve of his jaw that Kurt imagined running his tongue along.  _I'm fine. Blaine's with me. I'm fine._

 Kurt dug his spare key from under the mat and opened the door, stepping aside to let Blaine in first. It'd been a few days since they'd been together alone in Kurt's apartment, the sight of the kitchen floor still making Kurt's flesh buzz with electricity. "Mi casa es su casa," he exclaimed before shedding his coat and flicking on the lights. Damn, he should've tidied up before he left. There were half-full tea mugs crowding the coffee table and a tangle of blankets on the couch. The entire living room smelled like cat pee. "Make yourself at home."

Blaine didn't seem to be bothered by the mess as he casually removed his shoes, examining the walls with unopposed eyes. "It's so...clean," he remarked.

Kurt nearly scoffed, bending to scoop up one of the magazines that littered the carpet. "Oh, yeah. So clean," he answered sarcastically. He suddenly felt awkwardly exposed in his gold button-down and too-tight pants. "Um, feel free to take a seat."

"Cleaner than mine, trust me. You've always been the tidier one." A beat of silence passed between them before Blaine spoke for a second time. "Wanna watch a movie? We could watch a movie."

Kurt jumped at the suggestion, grinning as brightly as he could muster. He dug through his movie collection for a few seconds before producing a shiny case. "Is  _Moulin Rouge_  okay?" he wanted to know. "We used to watch it all the time while we were in high school. It's kind of a pick-me-up movie for me."

"That's exactly what I was thinking," Blaine said, beaming as Kurt popped in the disc. "Great minds think alike. Well, you're the great mind. I'm just a follower."

Kurt ducked his head, cheeks heating up at the compliment as he took a seat a couple feet away from Blaine on the couch. The opening credits to the movie started up, the music echoing throughout the room and drowning out the noise from the streets where people continued to shout "Happy New Year!".

Kurt could barely pay attention to the flickering screen in front of him. He kept watching Blaine out of the corner of his eye, taking in his form illuminated by the faint lighting of the television. He wanted to reach out and intertwine their fingers; to feel Blaine's pulse through beating between them. Kurt wouldn't have hesitated back in high school. But now it felt like there was an eternity stretching them apart. And it was all because of him.

He inched closer, wondering vaguely if Blaine wanted to hold his hand, too. One foot separating them. Kurt nearly opened his mouth to ask if it was okay if he touched before remembering that Blaine wasn't the one who freaked out.

He shifted so their sides pressed together and slowly rested his neck in Blaine's shoulder. Yes, this was nice. Kurt seriously debated cancelling everything so he could stay there forever. Blaine hummed in contentment before bending his neck to lay on top of Kurt.

Kurt fell asleep instantly. With the warmth from Blaine's body and  _Moulin Rouge_  playing in the background, it was easy to slip into unconsciousness. He felt more safe than he'd felt in years, like nothing could touch him.

 

_Teeth scraped along his collar bone, eliciting a desperate wail from Kurt. His wrists were pinned to the mattress by rough hands, his legs were held down by a pair of constantly gyrating hips. He thrashed in earnest and gasped in relief when the perpetrator pulled back, only to receive a sharp slap across his face._

_"Don't act like you're not the dirty little whore I know you are. You're a fucking ungrateful slut," Cecil snarled._

_Kurt's chest heaved as he wept. "Just let me go! I'll do anything-I'll do anything."_

_Cecil laughed; an empty and humorless cackle. "I want you to behave and beg for my cock." Droplets of spit splattered against his temple, mingling with the sweat that trickled down from his hairline._

_Cecil didn't give Kurt a chance to respond, instead attacking the belt on his pants. Kurt bucked his hips and twisted, kicking his feet and summoning all the strength he had. "No, no, no! Stop!_ Please!"

_Much to his horror, his belt unlatched and Cecil began to wiggle his pants down his thighs despite Kurt's struggles. He hesitated above Kurt's underwear, looking up between his lashes and smirking with cold, dark eyes._

_"You want this, Kurt. You know you do."_

 

"Fuck, fuck, get off, don't touch me!" he screamed, lurching upward and nearly toppling off the couch. Black spots danced in front of his vision and his entire body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. It took him a moment to realize Blaine had indeed fallen off of the cushion with a loud exclamation of "ow, fuck!". His complexion turned paper white as he stared at Kurt with wide and confused hazel eyes.

"Kurt! Kurt, are you okay?"

            He struggled to swallow, lowering his gaze and wringing his hands over and over.  _Fucking idiot._ "I-yeah. Yeah. Just a nightmare. Sorry," he muttered quietly, furiously blinking back tears when Cecil's face remained fresh in his mind.

            Blaine stood up with a grunt, slowly returning to his place on the couch before shifting to look at Kurt. He kept his head down, nails biting into his palm. Blaine must think he was such a pussy to wake up screaming from a fucking nightmare on the couch halfway through _Moulin Rouge._

"Hey, look at me," Blaine whispered, running his fingers against the exposed flesh of Kurt's ankle.

            Kurt's bottom lip trembled when he finally met Blaine's eyes. "I'm sorry," he choked out, tears slipping down his cheeks. "I didn't mean to wake you up."  _Come What May_ began on the T.V., almost taunting them with the idea of what they could've had; what they could've been.

            Blaine swept away a stray tear, never breaking eye contact. He saw nothing but love, devotion, concern-god, he wanted so badly to believe everything would be okay. His hand curled around the back of his neck, delicate and firm at the same time, and carefully held Kurt to his chest. The pounding of his heart beat against his ear in a steady rhythm and Kurt's breathing fell into the same pattern.

            " _Listen to my heart, can you hear it sing? Telling me to give you everything_.  _Seasons may change, winter to spring, but I love you. Until the end of time._ " Blaine's voice was thick with emotion. It had been years since Kurt had heard him sing and it was just as beautiful as he'd remembered. Kurt wanted to get lost in that voice; to dive in and forget about everything around them.

            " _Come what may_ ," Kurt sang back, almost inaudible.  _"Come what may. I will love you until my dying day."_ His grip tightened on Blaine's lower back as he buried his face into Blaine's rumpled t-shirt. He knew his tears would no doubt soak the fabric, but he couldn't find the energy to give a damn.

            Blaine tucked his nose in Kurt's hair and inhaled before singing out the next verse of the song. " _Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace. Suddenly my life doesn't seem like such a waste, it all revolves around you._ "

            " _And there's no mountain too high, no river too wide. Sing out this song and I'll be there by your side. Storm clouds may gather and stars may collide._ " He sat up and took Blaine's hands in both of his. They were inches apart, noses nearly bumping.  _"But I love you."_

_"I love you. Until the end of time."_

_"Until the end of time."_  For a second-or maybe it was an hour, Kurt wasn't sure-everything rotated in slow motion. It was just them, wrapped up in their own perfect little bubble. There was no Cecil, no drugs, no pain. They were Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson, and they were meant to be.

            "Kurt?" He almost wanted to tell Blaine to be quiet, that this moment was to intimate to be shattered by words. "I really do love you, you know."

            He exhaled shakily, running his tongue across his chapped lips and squeezing Blaine's hands. "I love you, too. And I want to stay with you. God, I want to be with you forever."

            Blaine's lips touched his lightly. "I want the same thing. I always have." He paused, looking down at their hands. "Do you-do you maybe want to talk about what happened the other night? Maybe getting it out will help."

            Kurt jerked away, throwing himself against the far armrest and wrenching his neck to the side so he wouldn't have to look at Blaine. _No, no, no._ "Don't-Blaine, don't," he hissed. Already, the images were back. He'd been so stupid to think that Blaine could take them away; that he could take away the hands that yanked at his belt, the hot breath burning his ear, the feeling of numbness throughout his sore limbs.

            "Hey, hey." Blaine held up his hands in defeat. "I'm not going to hurt you, Kurt. Nobody is ever going to hurt you."

            Kurt stared hard at a cat-decorated mug on the kitchen countertop. Maybe if he pretended like he hadn't heard him, then everything would go back to being the way it was only a minute ago. "Somebody already did."

            "Please, please talk to me. I want to help you," begged Blaine. "I'm not going anywhere."

             _Yes, you are. You'll leave if I tell you the truth._ Kurt shook his head insistently. "You have enough problems of your own. You don't need my sob story, too," he said.  _Stupid idiot._

"I'm here because I want your problems, too. That's what a relationship is. We share problems."

"You won't-I can't-" Kurt bit his lip, drawing blood and sighed. Blaine deserved to

know. If there was one person that Kurt could confess to, it was Blaine. "P-promise you won't do anything like go to the police or-or something, okay?"

            "I promise."

            It felt like a lie. It sounded like a lie. But Kurt had to believe it was the truth. "I was at the club the other night and I met this...guy." Speaking of Cecil like he was a person, an actual human being, made bile rise in the back of Kurt's throat. "He seemed nice and he just kept buying me drinks and I accepted them like the fucking idiot I am and the next thing I knew...The next thing I knew..." He stopped. No, he couldn't do it. Reliving it every second his eyes closed was bad enough but saying it aloud was too agonizing to bear.

            Blaine moved closer. "He-he did something to you, didn't he? That's why you called me. You went on and on about some guy and how he did something and I didn't know what."

            Kurt's tongue tasted like cotton as he nodded robotically. "He drugged me," he spat out, surprised at the pure venom echoing in his tone. "He drugged me and he dragged me to some spare room and he tried to-I couldn't move or think and he just-" His entire body quaked and he could barely see through his tears. "Don't make me say it. Please, don't make me say it."

            "Honey, breathe."  _I can't, I can't._  "Don't. You don't have to say it. It's okay. You're okay."  _No, I'm not._

He stood up and stumbled as far away from Blaine as he could get, hugging himself and staring at the floor. Blaine was disgusted. Blaine hated him. He was tainted and used and nobody wanted trash like him.  _Nobody._ "I'm-I have to go to the bathroom," he muttered before hurrying down the hall without so much as a backward glance at Blaine.

            He shut the door behind him with a  _bang!_ and dropped to the floor, curling in on himself. He was so stupid and worthless and s _tupid_. How could he have ever thought that telling Blaine the truth would be a good idea? It didn't matter how sweetly Blaine looked at him or how good his embrace felt; Kurt was a wreck and Blaine had seen him like that. He was supposed to the strong one, not the boy with PTSD hiding out in the bathroom.

            Part of him wanted to forget all of his pain in the taste of Blaine's lips but he knew that wouldn't-couldn't happen. The incident with Cecil was his fault and his fault alone. If he'd just listened to Rachel-no. No. The deed was done and there was no taking it back.

            Kurt sat against the wall across from the sink in stony silence, watching the door and yearning for someone to come crashing through and insist on being  _his_  knight in shining armor for a change. He wasn't made of glass but he wasn't made of iron either. Sometimes he needed someone to love him, and hold him, and make him feel like everything was going to be okay.

Blaine knocked at the door, startling Kurt out of his thoughts. He wiped his eyes with a piece of toilet paper and straightened up. "C-Come in," he rasped, instantly hating himself for how weak and utterly damaged he sounded.

            "I'd ask if you're okay, but that's a pretty dumb question, isn't it?" Blaine asked as he shut the door softly behind him.

            Kurt shrugged. "I'm sorry I dumped all of that on you. It's my problem and I shouldn't have bothered you with that."

            Blaine knelt beside him, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. "Kurt, if I didn't want it dumped on me, I honestly wouldn't have asked. I'm here for a reason- _still_ here, even after you told me. I'm not going anywhere."

            "How could you still want me? I'm...ruined." Kurt put his head between his knees, sniffling pathetically.

            "You're not ruined," Blaine said. "Maybe you're a little frayed at the edges, but I'm quite a bit torn, don't you think? I want you for what you've been through because if you don't go through hard times then you don't have character, and you, Kurt Hummel, have a shit ton of character."

            Kurt chuckled into the space between his knees before sitting up and watching Blaine. "You're perfectly imperfect." He touched Blaine's forearm tenderly. "You're so amazing in every way and I don't know what I did to deserve such an incredible man like you."

            Blaine put his chin on Kurt's knee and grinned up at him. "I ask myself the same thing. And then I remember that you went through hell to fix me and it took me a total of five years to get my head out of my ass."

            Kurt kissed him before he could stop himself, closing the space between them and opening his mouth to explore Blaine's. When they pulled apart, Kurt was smiling. "You always were the slower one," he teased, playing idly with the curls at the nape of Blaine's neck. "So...What is this?" He motioned between them. "I mean-us. What are we?"

            Blaine snorted and slapped his ankle jokingly. "Rude," he quipped, eyes bright with excitement. "I'd like us-Kurt Hummel, would you do me the incredible honor of being my  _boyfriend_ again?"

 

            Kurt tapped his jaw as if he actually had to think about his answer, though his belly swarmed with butterflies and his head spun with desire. "I'm not sure, Blaine Anderson, I may have to get back to you on that," he said mockingly before throwing his arms around Blaine's neck and nudging their noses together. "Of course, you dork. Of course."


	23. I Never Had Much At All But I Still Got Everything to Lose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and suggests wonderful ideas every week! Each response we receive is such a pleasure to read and both my co-author and I love to reply in any way we can! This chapter is a bit of a filler chapter just to supply a bit of a break from the usual heaviness, but the storyline will pick up again shortly. The song used was Pocket Full of Dreams by Hedley. Please enjoy!

_I never found a shooting star and there's holes in my jeans_  
I didn't win the lottery or build a time machine  
 **I never had much at all but I still got everything to lose**  
Cause I don't want anything   
But you

            It had been seven days, nineteen hours, eleven minutes and thirty-four seconds since they had made it official. Ever since that moment, curled up on the floor of Kurt's bathroom, Blaine had been stuck on his mind like glue; glorious, curly-haired, hazel-eyed, bowtie-d glue.

There was something almost comical about the way they'd fallen back into their easy routine. The holiday break was over far too soon, forcing Kurt to return to school and work at Vogue and in no time, his schedule skyrocketed back into the busy regularity it had been before the Blaine fiasco. Although his workload allowed for little to no free time, Kurt was happier than he'd been since he could remember. Kurt and Blaine's texting became obsessive. Kurt texted him when he woke up, when he took the subway to work, when he got to work, during his breaks or when Isabelle wasn't looking, when he went out to lunch, when he got back from lunch, when Isabelle lectured him for not having enough ideas, when Brianna from the C block brought coffee, when he took the subway to school, when his teacher turned his back, when he got home, and every moment in between.

They called each other every night at exactly eight o'clock. Sometimes they talked about their days while other times they reconciled their past or simply didn't speak at all. Kurt loved being in a relationship and he loved being loved, but most of all, he loved Blaine.

 

Kurt took a deep breath, staring at the chipped paint on Rachel's apartment door and toying with a loose string on the teddy bear he'd purchased after work. He had been a terrible friend-no, he'd been the worst best friend in the history of best friends and it was time for him to change that.

            He rapped twice before taking a step back and patiently waiting. Rachel opened the door a moment later, grimacing once she saw who had knocked. "Wait, please," Kurt begged as she began to turn away. "Just give me five minutes and I'll be out of your hair."

            She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest and stomping dramatically into the living room. Rachel plopped onto the couch, drew her pajama-clad knees beneath her chin and fixated Kurt with a pair of hard, ruthless brown eyes.

            Kurt shifted uncomfortably and held up the stuffed animal as a peace offering. "I bought this for you. It's Barbra the apology bear." He smiled, only to receive a frown from Rachel. "Look, Rach, I am really, really sorry, okay? I've been a self-centered, oblivious, horrible prick to you and Santana and...pretty much everyone and I'm  _sorry._ "

            Rachel cleared her throat, giving Kurt the once-over before nodding curtly. "You have been a jerk lately," she noted. "But I forgive you. God knows I've had my bitch moments in the past."

            Kurt collapsed onto the cushion next to her, grinning with relief and passing the bear over. "I missed you, you know. It's practically impossible to live in New York City without a best friend like you."

            "You have no idea how awful it is walking down the street without a man like yourself to protect me from the vicious and boob-hungry homeless people that roam the streets like vicious tigers," Rachel said, scrunching her nose dramatically.

            Kurt made a muscle with his right arm. "Oh, yes, this pound of flab would've done a lot to protect you."

            Rachel shoved him good-naturedly, giggling. "Shut up, that's more muscle than I'll ever have."

            "Okay, I know you've been dying to tell me all about Christian. So spill."

            Rachel lit up like a light bulb, moving her hands animatedly as she spoke in a high-pitched tone. Kurt really had missed her opinionated rambling and the way she lost herself in conversations. Even if Rachel grew unbearable sometimes, she was still the only person he could come to when he needed a pick me up.

            When she finished talking about the "sensuality" of Christian's haircut, Kurt stopped her before she could begin discussing the perfect shape of his cuticles. "Where's Santana? At the diner?" he asked. "I have Katy Perry the apology kitty to give to her."

            Rachel chewed her bottom lip, avoiding Kurt's gaze. "Um...She kind of quit her job at the diner."

            "What do you mean?"

            "Do you know the  _RENT-_ inspired strip club off of thirty-fourth and Remingway?" she remarked quietly. "Well, Santana kind of got a job there."

 

            If there was one thing Santana loved more than bitching out middle-aged mothers on Facebook, it was earning forty dollars an hour just for dancing around the stage in a sexy nurse costume and teasing balding and probably married men that tucked dollar bills into the hem of her too-short skirt.

            Being a stripper-or rather, exotic dancer-wasn't the most dignifying job, Santana knew, but it paid well and money was something she needed more than her dignity, not that she'd ever really cared about it in the first place. At least she wasn't like the girls that came after two in the morning, dressed only in disposable gold panties, and dragged the half-drunk men into the backrooms for a little extra something-something, who came out half an hour later four hundred dollars richer with mascara streaking down pink-tinted cheeks and smeared lipstick.

            She worked a simple shift from nine to two, performing two choreographed songs- _Peacock_ by Katy Perry and  _Bootylicious_ by Beyonce-and then returned home with a fat paycheck and a six pack of on the house beers. It was a hundred times better than the diner and surprisingly filled with less creepy men.

            It was two nights in that things started to take a turn for the worst. She'd finished  _Peacock_ , returning to the dressing rooms in a thick sheet of sweat and sticky glitter. "Oh, my god, Santana baby, that was incredible," cooed Leona, a blonde who'd been the first to introduce herself to Santana.

            She shrugged off the skintight blue elastic of her dress and slipped into one of the complementary robes. "Do you think so? I missed the note during the bridge-some asshole grabbed my butt and caught me off guard.

            Leona examined her reflection in the mirror and bent to apply more gossamer lip gloss. "Those dicks always grope at the wrong times. If any one of them touches my ass without forking over dough, you better believe I'd slap that son of a bitch right into the Milky Way," she quipped without so much as blinking.

            Oh, yes, she was Santana's type of girl. "Line up, line up, the next number is on in two!" called the stage manager, a wiry, greasy-haired forty-year-old that slept with whoever was willing. Santana had refused to so much as step near him without something covering the entire length of her body.

            Santana stood up, tossing her hair over her shoulder and grabbed the packet of makeup remover wipes. "God, I need a drink."

            "Frank works the bar at this time of night," said Leona, grabbing Santana's wrist and eliciting a tingling sensation that crept up her arm. "I can get us a couple free shots. Some energy boosters before our next performance."

            Santana followed her through the back entrance and claimed a couple stools at the bar. She watched with climbing jealousy as Leona flirted with Frank, exposing just the right amount of cleavage to get her way. Sure enough, he forked over four green Jell-O shots.

            Santana knocked one back and turned towards the stage, savoring the burn of the drink as it smoldered down her throat. The club was crowded with men featuring a variety of different ages, and even women who watched curiously behind tall martinis. Lights flashed and fog machines released curling streams of perfumed smoke that enhanced the performers twirling around grimy poles. She was in _Coyote Ugly_ for sure.

            Leona swallowed her second shot and smacked the glass back down triumphantly. "There we go. Now I'm really feeling good!" she exclaimed, whooping for emphasis.

            Santana hid her amused smirk behind her hand. "How long have you worked here?" she inquired casually. She'd viewed a couple of Leona's debuts and that girl really knew her way around the platform.

            "Oh, just a few years. I moved here when I was...sixteen, I think? I lived with my dad. He was a total dick so as soon as I turned eighteen, I got the fuck out of there and found a job at this shitty little café that paid eight bucks an hour. And then, lo and behold, Ronald recruited me on the streets when I had nowhere to live and I've been working here ever since. Five years, to be exact," Leona explained.

            "Didn't you ever want to...I don't know, go to college?" Santana wanted to know.

            Leona shook her head nonchalantly. "Not really. I'm happy here. I like what I do. I know a lot of people hate on us for having such risqué jobs, but I don't give a damn. Dignity's not something that anybody else can take from me. My opinion is the only one that matters."

            "Damn right." Santana admired her attitude, ducking as she felt a blush creep into her cheeks. It'd been god knows how long since she'd been truly attracted to another person and the warmth she felt in her stomach was foreign.

            "Ladies and gentlemen, put your drinks on the table and your money in the air for the one, the only-Firefighter Dave!" An eruption of cheers rocketed through the club like thunder as a half-naked firefighter burst through the curtain.

            His body was well-toned, supporting a defined set of abs beneath suspenders. The red plastic shorts outlined the curve of his ass and the large bulge of his crotch, his face shadowed beneath a corny hat.

            "Goddamn, Firefighter Dave is one fine piece of man. If I swung that way, I'd totally hit that," Santana announced.

            Leona laughed. "David? Oh, no, he's gay as they come. And not the nicest person, either. He never flirts with anyone, not even the sexy policemen, and just sulks in the corner. He's good at getting the money though." Santana observed as Dave rolled his body like it was sculpted out of clay.

            "Nice eye candy, though."

            "Karofsky's sweet to look at and bitter to taste."

            Santana froze. "I-I-what did you say?" she croaked, positive that Leona hadn't just uttered the once name in which Santana was sure she'd never have to hear again.

            Leona cocked her head, clearly confused. "I said David Karofksy is sweet to look at and bitter to taste. If I were you, I wouldn't tango with that fellow."

 

            Santana gulped down the shot with a shake of her head. "Oh, I already tangoed with him," she assured her. "Karofsky and I know each other well." 


	24. I Wonder If I Ever Cross Your Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to everyone who continues to read, review and offer wonderful input! It's been a rough couple days, so this chapter is a bit on the short side. The song used this chapter is Need You Now by Lady Antebellum. Enjoy!

****

_Picture perfect memories,_  
Scattered all around the floor.  
Reaching for the phone 'cause,  
I can't fight it anymore.

 _And_ **I wonder if I,  
Ever cross your mind.**  
For me it happens all the time.

             _The taste of Blaine's lips was intoxicating. The dry, firm roll of his hips, the calloused fingers dancing over exposed skin, the rough scrape of blossoming scuff on his jaw; it was all enough to make Kurt feel drunk, his head spinning and his gaze blurring with every delicious flick of Blaine's tongue._

_It'd started out as an amazing evening. Kurt had spent hours perfecting the last couple stitches on his kilt, slicking his hair into its magnificent coif and shining his shoes. Everything needed to fall in place. After all, you only ever get one junior prom._

_Dinner at Cheddar's beforehand was magnificent and the limo Blaine rented was beyond expectations. In fact, everything was flowing smoothly until the prom crownings. But Blaine was his rock and he found strength in his courage, managing to handle the situation with class and pride._

_Post prom was what they'd really been waiting for. It was barely a minute past midnight when Blaine had pushed Kurt down the hall and stumbled into the parking lot. Maybe it was a little bit foolish to make out against the back wall illuminated only by a flickering lamppost, in excellent view of the narrow-minded occupants of Lima. Kurt let the adrenalin fuel him, focusing on the incredible man writhing underneath him._

_Blaine pulled back, sucking in the sweet April air and wetting his swollen lips as his eyes roamed hungrily over Kurt's face. "My-my parents aren't home tonight. We can go back to my place, if you want, that is. I don't want to make you uncomfortable-"_

_Kurt silenced him with a hard kiss, biting Blaine's bottom lip in the way he knew made Blaine's knees tremble. They'd only been dating a few months, but they'd long ago memorized every corner of each other's mouths. "I'd love to."_

_The front door to McKinley High banged open loudly, causing the two boys to scramble into a shadowed alleyway. A hunched figure strode slowly towards one of the only remaining cars parked in the lot, a halo of gold plastic glinting on his head._

_"Is that Karofsky?" Kurt whispered, stepping forward to get a better look. "Is he crying?" In confirmation, a soft sob echoed through the streets._

_"Let's just go before he decides to start another fight," Blaine said, gripping Kurt's hand and leading him down the sidewalk._

_"Wait, wait, let me talk to him. I have to make sure he's okay."_

_"_ You  _have to make sure_ he's  _okay?" Blaine repeated. "He's the one who left you alone up there."_

_Kurt shrugged. "Bygones will be bygones. Besides, I understand what he's going through. And if I don't try and help him now, I'll never forgive myself."_

_Blaine smiled, leaning up to peck Kurt's cheek gently. "That's one of the many reasons why I adore you. I'll wait in the car, okay?"_

_Kurt wasn't quite sure exactly what he was going to say to Dave as he walked toward him. He ran over inspirational speeches and quotes in his head, but none of them seemed to fit the situation. Karofsky was leaning up against the hood of his blue Subaru, arms crossed over his chest and his head bent as fat tears slipped down his cheeks._

_Kurt cleared his throat. "Um, hi."_

_David jumped, dragging his sleeve across his face and hissing out in a nasally voice, "Leave me the fuck alone."_

_Kurt swallowed. "I'm sorry about what happened tonight. I shouldn't have pressured you to come out and I understand if you're mad at me-"_

_"I'm not mad at you, you fucking idiot," Karofsky cursed, suddenly animated with fury. "I'm mad at myself, don't you see? I'm too much of a damn coward to admit how I feel. God, I wish I didn't have to be this way." He slumped, looking defeated, shoulders shaking. "I wish I wasn't like this. How could anyone think this is a choice?"_

_Kurt sighed. "It sucks and it sucks a lot, but there's nothing we can do to change it. People are going to shoot you down and beat you up and tell you that who you fall in love with is wrong, but you have got to stay strong. You're not really living if you're not being open about who you are, you know? The longer you stay in the closet, the more time you're wasting. Who care what anyone thinks? The only opinion that matters is yours."_

_Karofsky nodded numbly. "I'm just-I'm not ready. My dad would kill me and my friends...I just can't do it yet," he croaked._

_Kurt rested his hand on his elbow in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. "You're only seventeen. You have time to sort out your life. And hey, if your friends don't accept who you are, then they're not truly your friends. You're always welcome in the glee club, I hope you know that."_

_David sniffed. "Like that'll ever happen," he answered jokingly._

_Kurt chuckled. "It was worth a try."_

_"Thank you, Kurt."_

_Kurt's heart flip-flopped. It was the first truly nice thing he'd ever heard David say to him. "You're welcome, Dave. You're welcome."_

            When Santana had called him and told Kurt exactly who she'd seen winding his way around a stripper pole, he had been in absolute disbelief. David Karofsky, a husky jock with a history of homophobia and still in the closet was working as an exotic dancer. _David Karofsky_ who'd almost killed himself at the faintest sign of being outed was now an openly gay member of the Catscratch club.

            It had taken three days and a whole lot of chocolate to convince Santana to even talk to Dave. And then a new pair of blood red spiked heels to have her invite him to lunch. Kurt insisted that Santana not tell Dave that he was going to be there and in turn, Santana had insisted she not be present at all.

            He wasn't sure how Dave would react. There was a massive possibility that he would simply turn and walk right out the door without so much as a backwards glance. Kurt was half nervous, half excited, and entirely curious. What had happened to David's football career? How did he get to New York? Kurt had cleared his entire afternoon just to find out the answers to those questions that would not stop ringing in the back of his mind.  

            Kurt's head snapped towards the door as the entrance bell jingled for what felt like the hundredth time. He took a slow sip of his coffee, willing his nerves to quiet down as he kept his eyes at the front of the deli. How the fuck was it possible to be this anxious over something so silly?

            "Kurt?"

            Kurt nearly fell out of his chair, spraying scalding mocha all over the table's sticky surface and burning his knuckle. "Oh, fuck," he cursed, dabbing his hand with a napkin before stumbling to his feet. And there he was. David Karofsky had lost a lot of weight. He was practically skin and bones, with a pair of white-washed jeans hanging loosely off his hips and a navy button down that swallowed his slim torso. Dave's dark brown hair was combed to the side with what appeared to be a decent amount of cotton candy-scented hair gel.

            He glanced up at Kurt through his lashes, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I didn't know-what're you doing here? Where's Santana?"

            Kurt swallowed hard and motioned to the vacant seat across from him. "Won't you sit down?" he asked politely.

            Dave frowned and took a hesitant step backward. "I really don't think that's a good idea. I have things to do and places to be-"

            "David," Kurt interrupted. "Sit. Please."

            He inhaled shakily and conceded. "I should've known you'd be here," he said, tone not quite condescending but rather reproachful as if he was waiting for Ashton Kutcher to pop out and claim he'd been PUNK'd.  "And I'm guessing Berry's hiding somewhere too?"

            Kurt smiled. "She's back at the apartment we share. We're kind of a package deal."

            They sat in awkward silence filled only by the clinking of coffee mugs and idle chatter upheld by surrounding customers. "How've you been?" Kurt inquired finally.

            David squirmed uncomfortably. "I've been...Well, I've been busy," he replied. "A-and you?"

            "Things were rocky, but now they're back on track. I had no idea you'd made it to New York. How long have you been living here?" Kurt wanted to know, leaning forward to hear better.

            He took a long time to answer, clearly putting a lot of thought into choosing a careful response. "I got a football scholarship to Brown," David said, "and I accepted it. My dad was thrilled, of course. But the more I stayed there, the more I knew it was the wrong option. I never really loved football-that was always my dad forcing it onto me. So around Christmas my sophomore year, I told him. About everything. About my hate for the sport, my failing grades, my sexuality. He told me I wasn't his son. I told him that he'd never been my father. And then I came here." He paused, wringing his hands together. "All that talk about it being the city of dreams and romance made me believe it was real. I took a chance, I guess. I kind of hoped it would bandage my severed soul."

            Kurt fished for something fitting to say. "I-I'm sorry about your dad, but I'm glad you were finally able to come out."

            "It's been hard but at least I don't feel like I'm keeping some suffocating secret anymore. I assume Santana's told you about my profession." Straight to the chase.

            "Um, yes. I hope you don't mind. She's got a big mouth."

            David smirked. "It's alright. I'm not ashamed. Exotic dancing has become a part of me over the past few years. I don't mind it. It's a great way to meet new guys."

            Kurt stammered, utterly confused. David Karofsky was open and proud, in fact, of his sexuality. This was all just some major joke, Kurt was sure. "So are you dating anyone?"

            David quirked an amused eyebrow. "Are you coming onto me, Mr. Hummel?"

            Spluttering, Kurt choked out, "I-no, of course not."

            He laughed. "It's alright, I'm just teasing you. Don't be so nervous, I won't bite. Unless you pay me." And then at Kurt's astounded stare, "Kidding. But no, I'm currently single. Not a lot of guys are interested in someone like me."

            "Someone like you? You mean an...exotic dancer?" Kurt asked.

            Dave shook his head. "No, not that. Believe it or not, a lot of guys are into that. No, I'm talking about my condition. I have HIV."


	25. I Tread A Troubled Track

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and messages us every week! This chapter may be a lot to swallow, but hopefully it'll pick up the storyline and make it a bit more exciting to read until we can get our boys back together. Please don't forget to read Blaine's POV (Stained Glass). The song used this chapter is Back to Black by Amy Winehouse. Have a great week! Enjoy.

_He left no time to regret, kept his lips wet_  
With his same old safe bet  
Me and my head high and my tears dry  
Get on without my guy

 _You went back to what you knew so far removed_  
From all that we went through  
And  **I tread a troubled track** , my odds are stacked  
I'll go back to black

              _"I have HIV."_

            The words kept ringing in his head over and over like an obnoxious siren, even when Kurt strode out onto the fire escape and let the bitter, frosty wind numb his nerves. He perched on the edge of the steel railing, letting his feet dangle over the side as he recalled sitting in the same position just a few weeks ago. He had changed so much since then.

            New York City had stayed the same, as if the emotional hurricane he'd experienced had been nothing but a sweet tropical breeze. The buildings still stretched up into the stony grey sky, the constant stream of busy pedestrians still scurried along the sidewalk like ants, the steady beat of honking cars and blaring ambulances still pulsed in time of the rhythm of Kurt's beating heart.

            One way or another, everyone was drawn to this city. Opportunity, romance, the fulfillment of dreams; they were all reasons people left the comfort of their tiny towns to take on the ever-changing adventure of New York. Somehow, dozens of people Kurt had known in shitty little McKinley High School had wandered their way here, attracted like moths to a flickering lamp. If that wasn't fate, he didn't know what was.

            Kurt inhaled the cool air, letting it burn his lungs as he replayed the afternoon in his head. Dave had seemed so casual, so nonchalant, when the words had tumbled out of his lips that Kurt didn't even process what he said for a couple seconds. Kurt knew about AIDS. Hell, he'd even been tested for it a couple times, but it'd always been a fictional threat held back by the thin screen of a television.

             _"If you keep your mouth open like that for too long, somebody might think it's an invitation," Dave had remarked with a soft chuckle, taking a slow sip of the ginger ale the waitress had brought._

_Kurt stuttered, positive his eyes were the size of golf balls. "How can-How can you joke like that?" he cried. "How can you act like what you have is-is nothing when it's clearly not!"_

_Dave set down his drink and watched the ice swirl in the cup before taking a deep breath. "I've known about it for a while. I've had my chance to express my anger at the universe, to research and discover my more than probable death. I know what I can do to stay alive for as long as possible and I'm taking all the measures I can."_

_"That's not enough." Kurt shook his head furiously. "That's not enough. You have to find something. Isn't there a cure?" He knew the answer to his question and he saw the confirmation reflected in David's pitying gaze._

_"There's nothing I can do, Kurt, except make the most of what I got. What are you going to get to eat? I was thinking a meatball sub, but god knows what the meatballs are actually made of."_

_Tears stung at the corners of Kurt's eyes and he pinched the bridge of his nose in a desperate effort to calm himself. "I'm sorry," he whispered, immediately regretting it when Dave's attention snapped up from the fingerprint-stained plastic of the menu._

_"Don't say that. ‘I'm sorry' is what you tell the parents of someone who's dead," David said, bristling._

            Kurt's back ached and his fingers were swollen from the biting cold. A flurry of glistening snow drifted down languidly, dusting Kurt's shoulders and sticking to the tips of his shoes. It hurt to think too hard about what Dave was and who he could've been. It hurt to think what Kurt could've done to help him, to educate him. Maybe if he'd just called him on one of those rainy nights when his mind was plagued with sickening memories of his past. If he'd just...

             _"Alright, I know you're dying to ask me questions," Dave declared between bites of his sandwich._

_Kurt picked at his garden salad, gnawing at his bottom lip as if it was a barrier to hold back the questions he was indeed dying to ask. "How did it happen? I mean...How did you get it?"_

_"It?"He wiped his mouth with a napkin and folded his hands daintily across the table. "First things first, I'm not a baby. It's called HIV. It was my first night in New York and some asshole decided to take advantage of me. I'd never been with another guy and I was desperate to try it. I guess part of me wanted to know for sure that I didn't just toss my future and my family away. He didn't use protection and...that's that."_

_Kurt's throat worked in an attempt to swallow but his tongue felt like a heavy lead weight. "He was an asshole."_

_David smiled. "Yeah. He was."_

            The balcony door closed behind him with a soft  _click._ Nysa mewled from her perch on the couch armchair and bowed her back as he rubbed her snow white fur tenderly. "How's my baby girl?" He scooped the no-longer kitten into his lap, her pleasured purr a soothing soundtrack to his labored breathing.

             _They stood awkwardly, not quite sure if the heart-to-heart they'd just undergone qualified for a hug. David shoved his hands into his pockets, producing a worn wallet and tossing several bills onto the check._

_"Oh, no, no, no," Kurt protested. "Let me pay. After all, it was I who lured you here."_

_"Ah, but it was I who just unloaded my entire sob story on you," he chuckled. "Please, let me cover this. I'll let you get the next one, alright?"_

_Next one? Kurt wasn't sure he was even ready for a ‘next one', but he agreed reluctantly. "Thank you, David."_

_David winked at him as they passed underneath the tinkling entrance bell and onto the frostbitten streets. "I'd better go. I've got a lonely apartment and a couple of dogs to tend to. It was really great seeing you again, Kurt." He gave Kurt's shoulder a firm pat before turning and striding down the street. "Oh, and Kurt, if you and Blaine ever break up...Call me."_

Though David's come on had been quite flattering, Kurt was overwhelmed with everything he'd just told him. Did Blaine have HIV? When was the last time he'd been tested? Kurt wasn't even sure he was ready to be intimate, not so soon after Aaron. God, what the hell was wrong with him?

            A loud round of knocking at his door shook him out of the black hole he felt himself sinker further and further into. Rachel swept past him the moment he swung it open, planting herself stark center on the living room carpet.

            "Well, hello to you, too," he mumbled

            "Kurt, I'm freaking out. I'm freaking the fuck out, Kurt!" she cried, pacing back and forth and dragging her fingers through dark hair which looked like it hadn't been washed in several days.

            "Okay, okay, calm down. Just breathe. Tell me what happened," Kurt told her in a soothing tone, retrieving a couple packets of tea from the cupboard. Rachel had daily freak-outs, usually over not having enough honey or a raspy voice or what impression she'd left on the most recent talent scout for her productions at NYADA.

            Rachel released a pinched scream. "I can't believe I was this s _tupid._ I knew that taking a chance was an idiotic move, but I mean-what are the odds, right? Like one in every thirty people? Well, it worked for Quinn and Puck, but that's not the point. God, what am I going to do?"

            Kurt set down a cat-decorated mug carefully, turning to face the frazzled Rachel. "Rachel, what's going on? You're not making any sense."

            Rachel shook her head, brown eyes brimming with tears as she dug into her robe pocket and produced a single white stick. "I think I'm pregnant."

            For half a second, Kurt considered laughing. Rachel, who planned out every second of her life perfectly and took drastic measures to ensure the success of her long-standing dreams, had slipped up. "You're kidding," Kurt said. Rachel's skin turned a pasty white as she slowly nodded. "Is it Christian's?"

            Rachel threw up her hands, clearly exasperated. "Of course it's Christian's. Who do you think I am? Santana?"

            "Alright, alright. Did you use...protection? I mean, you are on birth control, aren't you?" This was not something he had ever wanted to discuss with his best friend; especially not on a day like this. He sat down on the couch, watching as Rachel began to cross the perimeter of the room once more.

            "I-I went off of it because it was making me gain weight and if I gain weight, then I can't fit into my costumes and you know how expensive those are to get re-hemmed."  
            "Fuck, Rach, you do realize that you won't be able to fit into anything now that you're  _pregnant,_ " Kurt hissed.

            "I get it, I get it, okay? I didn't come here to be scolded. I just...What the hell do I do, Kurt?" She took a seat beside him, defeated. "This wasn't how it was supposed to work out."

            He rubbed her back gently, wracking his mind for the right thing to say. "Are you even sure? Have you been to the doctor?"

            "No. I'm too scared. I don't want to know the truth." She dropped her head into her hands, body trembling with broken-hearted sobs.

            "Hey, hey, it'll be alright. I'm here for you, honey, I'm always here for you. I'll go with you and I'll be there every step of the way."

 

            The waiting room of the corner clinic was entirely too small. Walls painted a blinding turquoise supported tacky floral vases and portraits of scrub-clad doctors. Rachel's steady squeezing of his hand almost distracted him from the horrid decorations.  _Almost._

            "Rachel Berry."

            Neither of them moved from the uncomfortable plastic chairs. The nurse cleared her throat. "Rachel Berry."

            Rachel stood up, clutching her purse to her stomach and tossing a terrified look over her shoulder. Kurt nodded encouragingly, motioning for her to go. "I'll wait out here," he called after her. Hearing about Rachel's vagina was enough.

            Kurt picked up his cell phone which he'd neglected due to his busy-and stressful-afternoon. He had four messages from Rachel and a missed call with a matching voicemail from Blaine. He couldn't help the grin that slipped across his lips. He'd missed Blaine. Blaine his _boyfriend._ Blaine could fix anything and everything with one of his charming smiles.

 _"Heyyyy, Kurt. Hey, it's Blaine._ " Kurt snorted. " _Wow, my name sounds funny. Did you know it sounded funny? Your name doesn't sound funny. It's just like...Kurt. Whatever, anyways, I just wanted to tell you how amazing you are and I'm not drunk at all, just a little tiny bit tipsy probably. I don't know. You're just_ the best _; you're so strong all of the time and you look after people and you look after me even if I'm kind of an asshole. My mom showed up today and I don't know what she wants from me."_ Wait,  _what? "She looks almost the same as when she left and I don't know what she_ wants.  _I wish you were here. You're so smart and you'd know what to do. You always know what to do. I loooooooooove you, Kurt. I love you so much and I just want to tell you that all the time."_

            Kurt's heart froze in his chest. Blaine's mother had shown up at his doorstep, resulting in Blaine drinking an unhealthy amount and drunk dialing him. This wasn't good. No, this wasn't good at all. Fingers shaking, he hurried to call Blaine back. The line rang once before he caught sight of a horrified Rachel stumbling through the exit.

            "I'm pregnant."

            The phone slipped from his palm and clattered to the floor. "Shit."


	26. I Can Dance and Play the Part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who reads and reviews every single week! Things are getting a bit hectic between both of the fics, but things will be getting better as they come to an end! The song used this chapter is Human by Christina Perri. Enjoy!

_I can fake a smile,_

_I can force a laugh._

**_I can dance and play the part,_ **

_If that's what you ask._

_I can do it._

 

            Kurt took Rachel home. He tried to soothe her, rubbing her back and squeezing her hand comfortingly throughout the entirety of the cab ride, but she didn't seem capable of acknowledging him. She only stared out the window, her palm splayed across her still-flat abdomen as a river of tears streamed down her cheeks.

            When they reached his apartment, he helped Rachel onto the couch and fixed her a cup of herbal tea. A whirlwind of questions spun through his mind, but he shut his lips determinedly. Rachel had been there for him and now it was his turn to be there for her.

            Surprisingly, she fell asleep almost immediately. Kurt covered her gingerly with a blanket before stepping out on the fire escape and calling Blaine back. There was something dangerous in the way he'd sounded in the voicemail; like he was seconds from breaking down into pieces.

Blaine picked up on the second ring. "Hello? Blaine? Is everything alright?" he asked urgently, steadying himself against the frosted steel railing.

He heard Blaine inhale shakily. "Hi. I-Uh, yeah. Why?"

"The voicemail you left me. You didn't sound okay. Something about your mom?" The piercing siren of an ambulance wailed in the distance.

"Fuck. I didn't even know I called you. Shit," Blaine hissed.

Kurt's nerves spiked. Something was definitely wrong. He desperately hoped he hadn't resorted to the drugs. "What's going on? If you're in trouble, you can tell me. You can tell me anything, Blaine. I want to help you," he said-pleaded. He needed to make Blaine understand that he wasn't going to leave. Not again.

"It's just-" Blaine sniffed and Kurt's heart lurched. He sounded so utterly broken. "-my mom showed up yesterday out of nowhere."

"What?!" Kurt glanced toward the living room where Rachel slept, lowering his voice. "The mom that walked out on you mom? Oh, my god. What did she say?"

"No, the mom that I mysteriously adopted overnight. Yes that mom," he retorted sarcastically; a defense mechanism. "She just appeared and said she was sorry and tried to pretend like nothing happened and I don't know what to do, Kurt."

He took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut. "Tell her to go fuck herself. She doesn't deserve you, Blaine. You can't just show up at your son's doorstep fifteen years later and expect him to forgive you."

"She's my mom..."

"She left you alone with your abusive father." He was unbelievably furious. What kind of a mother deserted their son and then expected forgiveness after a simple, pathetic hello?

"But she came back...Doesn't that mean something? I don't know what to do," Blaine whispered. Those words-those damn words-that he just kept repeating struck something inside of Kurt. He wanted to help, more than anything, but he didn't know what to do anymore than Blaine did.

He sighed. "If you can find it in you to forgive her, then do so. And if you can't, hopefully that'll teach her a lesson," he replied gently.

"I'm just really scared." The shattering of Kurt's heart was nearly audible. He leaned forward, staring down hard at the blinking lights of the city and willed himself to be strong.

"She can't hurt you. Not anymore."

"But she's going to," Blaine murmured.

"I won't let her, Blaine. I won't let anyone hurt you."

"I'm so sorry that I drunk-dialed you. I love you so much, Kurt. Please always remember that," Blaine begged. How could he even care about something so miniscule? Blaine fucked up, Kurt fucked up, people fucked up, but that didn't make them bad.

"I don't care about that. I just wanted to make sure you're okay. I love you, too," he insisted.

"I'm okay, I think. I better let you go. I'm sure you're busy. I'm sorry."

Rachel stirred inside, sitting up and peering around at a loss. "Rachel just woke up. I-Are you positive, Blaine? I can come over if you need me to-" He held up one finger, motioning to Rachel that he'd be in momentarily.

"Yeah, yeah. Um, I'm fine, Kurt."

"Blaine Devon Anderson, I've seen you at your worst and your best and both of them only make me love you more," he said. "I want to help. I don't care about anything else. I'll be there in an hour, alright?"

"I said I'm fine. I'm really fine."

Kurt snorted. "Better leave the door unlocked. I don't want to wake Christian. Love you."

"Kurt!" He grinned at Blaine's protest before hanging up and slipping inside. His spirits were immediately crushed the second he saw Rachel's once again tear-streaked face as she rocked back and forth on the cushion.

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her temple. "It'll be alright," he murmured, but she only shook her head. When Rachel had calmed down enough to walk, Kurt took her back to her apartment and tucked her into bed. He dialed Santana and left her an urgent voicemail telling her to take the rest of the night off and he'd pay her for whatever she was missing.

With guilt settled in the pit of his stomach, he took a cab to Blaine's. He wondered if he was an awful friend for leaving Rachel or a good person for trying to help his boyfriend as the cab rumbled through the silent streets of New York. It was ironic, in a way. Rachel was struggling with the new life budding inside of her while the woman who'd brought Blaine into the world tormented him.

 

Kurt tried the doorknob, not wanting to wake Christian, and found it unlocked. He pushed into the living room, welcomed by a rush of warm air, and shut the door quietly behind him. The lights were turned off and after smacking his knee on the coffee table, he flicked on the flashlight on his phone and made his way down the hall. He entered what he knew was Blaine's room only to find an empty bed. It was then that he heard a soft sob bleed through the bathroom door one over.

      His heart thumping deafeningly in his ears, he knocked gingerly before opening it. Blaine was curled up against the marble tub, holding up his hands defensively to block the flood of bright light that invaded his dark little huddle.

            Kurt  _broke_  at the sight of him, kneeling down and taking Blaine into his arms. "I'm so sorry she hurt you, B," he said, voice shattering. "I'm so sorry."

            He shook his head. "I just don't know what to do. She left me. She left me by myself with  _him,_ " Blaine hissed between clenched teeth.

            Kurt was at a loss for words. He yearned for the days when a sweet kiss and a Hello Kitty band-aid could fix everything. "It's over now. It's over and they can't hurt you anymore. I'm here."

            "She left me. She just left me," he repeated. "And I was finally getting over it and she came back. Why did she have to come back?"

            Kurt surged with fury. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that such a beautiful soul was plagued by so much agony. He wanted to grip Kylie Anderson by the neck and shake her, but instead he grabbed Blaine's shoulders and turned him so they squarely faced each other. "You have got to stop holding onto the past. All it's doing is ruining your future and I won't let that happen. She did what she did and there's nothing we can do to change it. Now you have to decide whether or not you're going to forgive her," he told Blaine determinedly.

            "I don't know." Blaine sounded so fragile; he was a child again, trapped by his father's presence and his mother's abandonment.

            "I don't need you to know, I need you to think."

            Blaine tangled his fingers in the soaked fabric of Kurt's t-shirt, as if he would sink if he let go. "I guess I need to talk to her. But I don't know if I can," he said.

            "I'll be right with you every step of the way. I'm here to stay, through thick and thin," Kurt insisted. And he meant every word.

            "But what if she doesn't want to talk to me? I kind of...snapped at her," Blaine explained, dragging the back of his hand across his face.

            Kurt smiled lovingly. "She didn't come all this way for nothing. She must've expected that you'd be mad-furious. Whatever you said was justified. You have to understand that." Leaning down, Kurt cupped his jaw and lightly touched his lips to Blaine's, swiping a fallen tear with the pad of his thumb. "Now can we please get up off the floor? It's been a long day and my  back is killing me."

            Blaine released a choked off giggle. "Yeah. Yeah, we should get up off the floor."

            Kurt laced their fingers together, squeezing gently as they strode back into the kitchen. Blaine dug out a bag of wheat bread questioningly. "Toast?" Kurt nodded, taking a seat behind the bar. "So, what made your day particularly long?" he asked as he slipped a couple pieces into the toaster.

            Kurt picked at a stain on the counter, chewing the inside of his cheek. He hesitated, not wanting to add to Blaine's stress. If there was anyone Kurt could talk to about Dave, it was Blaine. "Well...Remember David Karofsky?" he wanted to know. "He's kind of a stripper now. And um...He has HIV."

            The bag of bread fell from Blaine's hands and tumbled to the ground. "Wait, what?!" he exclaimed. "When were you talking to Karofsky? When were you talking to Karofsky and how is he a  _stripper_ and HIV?  _What?"_

Kurt chuckled, holding up his hands in a shrug. "He works at the club Santana got a job at. I kind of lured him into meeting with me. I didn't know it would turn out like...that." His grin faded and he dropped his gaze back down to his hands.

            "Jeez, who would've known, huh?"

            "I know. And that's not the only surprise I discovered today," he declared before he could stop himself. Telling Blaine was dangerous, he knew that much, especially since Rachel wasn't even close to making a decision.

            Blaine stooped to prop his elbows on the table, smirking up at him through long lashes. "Do tell. I need all the Hummel gossip."

            Blaine was just so darn cute that Kurt felt the words leaving his mouth before he even processed what he was saying. "Not sure how juicy this one is. Don't tell Christian," he whispered, moving in closer, "but Rachel's pregnant."

            At the same time Blaine's mouth dropped open, there came a clatter from the front door and a loud cry of, "WHAT?".  And it didn't come from Blaine.    


	27. The Storms Are Raging On The Rolling Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for mentions of Finn Hudson. It is finally summer! Congratulations to all who've finished their final exams and good luck to those who still have some to go! Unfortunately, both this fic as well as the partner fic (Stained Glass) written by my amazing co-author are coming to a close pretty soon. Anyone with suggestions or comments are welcome to keep submitting even after the fics end. We appreciate all the support and dedication all of our wonderful readers have provided! This chapter is from the point of view of Rachel to shake things up a bit and give everyone a break from the crazy life of one Kurt Hummel. The song used this chapter is Make You Feel My Love by Adele. Enjoy!

**_The storms are raging on the rolling sea_** __  
And on the highway of regret  
The winds of change are blowing wild and free  
You ain't seen nothing like me yet

_"You're so beautiful."_

_Rachel blushed, biting her lip in what she hoped was a sexy manner. Christian smiled that dorky smile that made Rachel's stomach do flips, blinking up at her sweetly through his dark lashes. She ran her fingers over the sweat-slick bare skin of Christian's chest, marveling at the toned definition of his abdomen. "You're so handsome," she whispered._

_Posed above Christian, straddling his waist in only a pale pink lace bra, Rachel felt only a touch of self-consciousness. They'd been together before-both above and below the layers of clothes-and each time only became easier. Christian was different than the other guys Rachel had been with. He genuinely cared about what she had to say, whether it was bitching about the cashier at the supermarket or crying over blowing an audition, he was at her side always offering kind advice. She loved him for that._

_Rachel bent down and pressed her lips to his. It was rare when they got a true moment alone. Between Kurt and Blaine's constant drama and Santana's unemployment, as well as their conflicting schedules, time together was a privilege._

_Christian's hand tangled in her long hair, arching his body to inch closer to her own. His other palm splayed across her back, dancing over her spine and drawing goose bumps across Rachel's arms. "How long do we have?" he asked quietly, ducking their foreheads together and peering up at her longingly._

_She exhaled slowly, wanting nothing more than all the time in the world. "An hour. Santana's shift ends at five."_

_Christian sighed, squeezing his eyes closed. "One day I'll take you home with me, back to California. We'll stay in my room all day and make love until we can't move," he whispered against her lips._

_Rachel wondered how she'd gotten so lucky as to have a man like Christian. She shook her head adoringly, rubbing their noses together. "That sounds perfect." Gripping her by her hips, Christian flipped Rachel down into the mattress and pinned her down, sucking at her collarbone as his hands roamed freely along her stomach. She tilted up into his touch, hissing out, "Do you have protection? I-oh-I stopped taking birth control, you know."_

_Christian nodded from where his tongue traced the outline of her bra. "I've got it under control."_

_"Hey, Rach?" Christian called from the bathroom. Rachel threw a t-shirt over her head, glancing in the dresser mirror and frowning at her ruffled bangs._

_"Yeah, babe?"_

_"Don't freak out, okay?" Rachel started freaking out._

_"What do you mean ‘don't freak out'? Christian, what the hell did you do?" she demanded._

_Christian emerged from the bathroom, arms wrapped around his torso nervously. "The condom broke."_

_Rachel's eyes widened as panic blossomed in her chest. "Oh, my god, you can't be serious? Oh, my god,_ shit.  _Christian, god, what if I get pregnant?"_

_Christian shook his head insistently, pulling her close and kissing her forehead comfortingly. "You won't, okay? There's a one in a million chance. And even if you do, we can work it out. I won't leave you, Rach, I promise."_

_Rachel took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of_ Christian,  _and nodded reluctantly. Everything would be okay._

            Rachel hardly ever got sick. She took multiple vitamins, visited the doctor regularly, got plenty of sleep, and cleaned every surface twice a day. Her career depended on her health, the strength of her voice and her ability to be present at all times. So when Rachel keeled over mid-rehearsal for NYADA's production of  _Wicked_ and promptly vomited over the edge of the stage, she knew something was wrong.

            There was a chorus of disgusted squeals from the group of girls behind her and the front-row directors backed up with horrified glares. Her hand flew up to wipe the sick from her mouth and her entire face heated up with embarrassment. "I am so sorry," she choked out. "I'm so sorry-"

            Wrinkling her nose distastefully, Cassandra July waved a hand. "Just take the day off, Berry, and don't come back until you can control your gag reflex. I know our Glinda's face isn't the most attractive, but that doesn't call for an impromptu vomit fest."

            Rachel hurried off stage, past the angry Glinda and giggling cast. Back at her apartment, she ran over and over the terrible scene in her mind, wondering where she'd screwed up and gotten ill from what appeared to be a stomach bug. In the afternoon, Rachel felt fine. She called Christian and sobbed out what happened to him, feeling only a bit better at his promise of a foot massage.

            After yet another horrific incident of throwing up halfway to the subway, Rachel grew increasingly alarmed. In the back of her mind, Rachel knew what was happening. It wasn't until six drug store pregnancy tests rested on the sink counter, all glowing with positive blue lines, did Rachel understand the expanse of her and Christian's mistakes.

            Kurt calmed her down and installed the possibility that there couldn't be a tiny baby nestled in her womb. Rachel was a responsible, independent woman who wouldn't be so careless. And then the tiny examination room echoed with the thump of a miniscule heartbeat and all of her nightmares became a reality.

            There was a little life form growing inside of her; a miniature Christian and Rachel. She considered abortion for half a second, but knew she wouldn't be able to go through with it. Adoption was out of the question-she would never subject anyone to what she'd experienced with her fathers and Shelby.

            Regardless of what she was feeling, it wasn't her body anymore. She wouldn't be eating for one, staying strictly within the lines of a healthy diet. She would have to move out of her shoebox apartment and maybe into another city entirely. Her career had been flushed down the toilet, along with any hopes of finishing out her education. God, how could she have been so  _stupid?_

Christian called her around ten o'clock while she sat brooding on the couch tangled in fuzzy blankets as if that would warm the cold inside her heart. She hesitated, not knowing quite what to say nor how exactly to say it.

            "Hello?"

            "Rachel! Rachel, fuck. Fuck, Rachel," Christian cursed. She closed her eyes and bit her lip hard.  _He knew._

"I-yes, I'm here," she murmured back, hot tears slipping over the apples of her cheeks. "You know."

            "Yes, I know!" he exclaimed. "How the hell could you not tell me?"

            "I just found out. I was trying to think of the right way to say it-"

            "Please, please tell me it's not true," Christian begged. "It can't be. Rach, we're not ready for a baby."

            "Don't you think I know that?" she cried. " _I'm_ the one who's body has to be completely fucked up! I'm the one with the ruined future! I'm the one who has to determine the future of this life form. God, I'm only twenty-three. I'm not ready for this. I'm not."

            He sighed. "I didn't mean to yell at you. I just...I wish we'd thought this through."

            "Me too."

            "No matter what, I'll stick by you. We can figure something out, we'll make it work. I can find the money to pay for an abortion-"

            "No," Rachel cut him off. She shook her head determinedly. "I won't do that. I can't."

            "Okay. I-I support you. You can move in with me and I'll give you a job at the bar. I'll do everything I can to make sure you can continue doing productions and school for as long as possible-" Christian stopped. "We can figure this out."

 

            Rachel looked down at her stomach. "We have to," she affirmed. "We have to." 


	28. You've Been Dreaming of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a massive thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and messages us every week! I’m visiting New York City this week, so the chapter is a bit short, but my amazing co-author and I finally wrote the long-awaited problem-free Klaine. If you’d like a more explicit version of what happens between them, feel free to hop on over to kurtsontop’s account and read Stained Glass. The song used this chapter is Tee Shirt by Birdy. Enjoy!

_In the morning when you wake up_  
I like to believe you are thinking of me  
And when the sun comes through your window  
I like to believe  **you've been dreaming of me**

_Dreaming_

            Rachel was mad. No, Rachel was  _furious._ “You told him, Kurt!” she shrieked, hands in the air and cheeks flushed bright red with anger. “You fucking told him!”

            Kurt crossed his arms, following her across the hall and back into her apartment. “Rachel, for the millionth time, I told _Blaine_  and Christian just happened to walk in at the wrong second. I’m sorry, alright? I know I shouldn’t have even told Blaine.”

            She stomped into the kitchen and slammed an open cupboard door. Christian stood up from his perch on the couch, clearly alarmed. “But you did! SANTANA!”

            Santana emerged from her bedroom, popping her head around the door with an exasperated expression. “What the fuck do you want now, moody pants?”

            Rachel was livid, steam practically bursting from her ears. “You left the damn thing wide open again. You know, I’m starting to think both you and Kurt are out to ruin my life,” she snarled, parading back into the living room and plopping defiantly down onto the couch.

            Christian dutifully began rubbing her back. “Take a deep breath, honey. They’re just trying to help.”

            Rachel pushed him off of her. “Oh, yes, because revealing all of my secrets and leaving all the fucking doors in the entire apartment open are certainly effective ways of helping me!” she spat.

            Kurt glanced at Santana, who looked just as done as he felt. “Okay, well, when you get over this hormone fest, don’t call me,” he snapped. It’d been a long couple days with Rachel on his heels, pitching yet another fit about Christian and what a horrible friend he was being. Kurt was over it. And this was only a few weeks into her pregnancy. He felt bad for Christian, to say the least.

            He dug his phone out of his pocket once in the deserted hallway and pulled up Blaine’s number.  _Are you busy? Rachel’s pissed at me and I need to get out of here. –K._

Anticipating a positive reply, Kurt returned to his apartment and dug his coat out of the closet. Blaine’s response came a moment later. _No, I’m not busy. What did you do to summon the wrath of Rachel onto you? –B._

            He sighed audibly, choosing the short version.  _It’s my fault Christian found out. Can I come over? I’m afraid she might try to shave my head. –K._

             _Yeah, yeah sure. My house is a mess, you have been warned. –B._

Kurt smiled fondly down at his phone before hurrying down the stairs.  _I’ll be right over. –K._

Kurt knocked on Blaine’s door, shaking the remaining snowflakes from his shoulders and wiping his slush-caked boots on the mat. Blaine threw it open, stooping in a wildly ridiculous welcoming gesture, and stepping aside to let Kurt in.

            He grinned, striding into the foyer and removing his coat. Kurt drew Blaine to his chest, burying his nose in the still-wet gel-free curls that hung loosely from his head. The familiar scent of evergreen shampoo and air freshener soothed the weight of stress from his mind. “Thanks for letting me come over. I really needed a break from all the Berry drama.”

            Blaine nuzzled his nose into his neck, winding his arms around Kurt’s waist. “You’re always welcome here, you know that,” he replied.

            Kurt bent back to kiss his cheek gently. “Mmm. You smell good.”

            He ducked his head, half-giggling as he grabbed Kurt’s hand and tugged him towards the worn sofa. “I just had a shower.” He dropped down onto the cushion, dragging Kurt down with him. “So, catch me up on all this Berry drama. Christian never came home, so I’ve been on the outs.”

            “Oh, god,” Kurt groaned, raking his fingers through his hair and resisting the urge to pull it all out. “She was so pissed off at me for telling Christian, even though I didn’t tell him, I told  _you,_ but she doesn’t listen. She just lies on the couch and cries and Christian tends to her every need like a faithful little puppy. He’s so sweet, that one. I’m glad he was the one taking care of you.” He was treading on eggshells, and not very delicately. Blaine’s dark days had been an avoided topic since they’d started dating again.

            Blaine ran his thumb over the back of Kurt’s hand distractedly. “That sounds horrifying. But yes. Christian’s a good guy,” he remarked carefully.

            Kurt leaned into Blaine’s shoulder. “Can we watch a movie? I need a distraction.”

            Blaine nodded, jumping up and pressing a soft kiss to Kurt’s forehead before crawling towards the stack of movie cases beside the television. “Any ideas?”

            “You pick,” he answered with a shrug. The movie wasn’t what he aiming for to distract him anyway.

            “I picked last time,” Blaine argued with a whine.

            “Let’s do  _Star Wars_. I know how much you love it. And it’s great background noise for when we make-out.” Kurt stifled a smirk at the way Blaine’s posture stiffened as he turned to grin coyly.

            “You sly dog.”

            Kurt pointed to himself, feigning innocence. “Me? A dog? Hey, I’m not the one with a weird fetish for licking my cheek.”

            Blaine gasped in mock horror, amusement twinkling in his hazel eyes. “How dare you.”

            “Oh, just get over here, dork,” Kurt said, rolling his eyes.

            He slipped the DVD into the player and scurried back to the couch. “Hi,” he squeaked.

            Kurt snorted, prying Blaine’s hand from his knee and lacing their fingers together. “Hi.”

            As the previews flashed across the screen, Blaine slowly lowered his head onto Kurt’s shoulder, exhaling contentedly. “I always hated these opening credits. They’re so damn long. Can we get to Ewan McGregor’s face, please?”

            Blaine chuckled lightly, snuggling closer. “I think they’re cool. But yes, I wouldn’t object to his face.”

            “I like your face better.” Kurt propped his legs across Blaine’s lap, and shivering at the warmth of Blaine’s palms sliding across his calves.

            “Of course, just like I like your face better.”

            Kurt cocked an eyebrow, shifting not-so-subtly closer and blinking up at him through long lashes. “Oh, do you now?” he asked playfully.

            “Yeah, I do.” Kurt suddenly became all too aware of the path Blaine’s fingers followed up to his knee, sucking in a sharp breath. “Besides, Ewan looks vaguely like Christian and it messes with my head.”

            Kurt laughed. “Ew. Now every time I fantasize about Ewan, I’ll think of Christian,” he said distastefully.

            “You’re welcome,” Blaine scoffed, wrinkling his nose.

            “Guess I’ll just have to fantasize about you now,” Kurt announced nonchalantly, turning his head almost robotically back to the T.V.

            Blaine swatted his knee. “Such a hardship; you have to fantasize about your boyfriend.”

            “Mmm, boyfriend. We’re boyfriends,” Kurt declared, rolling the word along his tongue.

            “Yes, we are.”

            “I love saying that. It means I can kiss you whenever I want.” Kurt’s gaze flickered down to Blaine’s lips, dropping to the movement of his Adam’s apple when he hummed in agreement.

            “Yeah. It does.”

            Kurt made a desperate sort of noise in the back of his throat, fisting his hands in the hem of Blaine’s t-shirt and pulling him in so they were an inch apart. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he whispered.

            Blaine croaked, his hand falling to rest against Kurt’s chest. “I—okay. Yes. Yeah. Yes. Please.”

            Kurt loved the hungry look that graced across Blaine’s features during the short moment before their lips met. His stomach swooped and his heart fluttered; it was so incredibly cliché that Kurt thought he was in a clearance aisle romance novel for a second.

            Blaine tilted Kurt’s head back, cupping his jaw and adjusting them so Kurt was flat on his back while Blaine straddled his hips. The movie was drowned out by their labored breathing and the rustle of fabric on fabric. Though the desire for air burned like liquid fire in Kurt’s chest, he couldn’t seem to tear himself away from the sweet velvet of Blaine’s lips.

            He flattened his palm against the bare, heated skin of Blaine’s abdomen and began to urge the shirt up. Kurt broke apart long enough to yank it over Blaine’s head and toss it to the floor. His body was more toned, more grown up, than Kurt remembered it. There was a small patch of dark, downy hair woven across his chest and smattered across the defined v that dipped into his briefs.

            Kurt cleared his throat. “Is this okay?”

            “So, so okay,” Blaine said without hesitation. He dropped to kiss wetly along Kurt’s neck and Kurt moaned unabashedly through clenched teeth. “Can I?” he wanted to know, driving Kurt’s sweater up his belly impatiently.

            “God yes.” Kurt tangled his fingers in Blaine’s damp hair as Blaine pressed a kiss to each spot of Kurt’s collarbone and down his sternum feverishly. His grip on Kurt’s waist grounded him when he felt so close to drowning in arousal, the delicious swipe of Blaine’s tongue making him crazy.

            And then Blaine’s hips swiveled, scraping along the front of Kurt’s jeans, and he jerked back. “S-stop,” he cried out, squeezing his eyes shut as the images came flooding back.  _No, no, no._ An urgent hand fumbling at his belt, his limbs pinned like dead weight to a piss-smelling mattress.  _Dirty whore. I know you want it._

Blaine sat up, eyes wide in confusion. “What did I do?”

            Kurt’s throat was dry, and his mouth tasted like cotton. “No, it wasn’t you. I just—“ He covered his face with his sweaty hands, defeated. He’d gone and fucked it all up  _again._  God, couldn’t he do anything right? Blaine didn’t love him. No, he couldn’t. Kurt was tainted, spoiled, rotten. Trash.

            Blaine peeled his hands away, kissing his palm sweetly. “Hey, I’m sorry. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I’m sorry.”

            No. This was Blaine. Blaine wasn’t like Cecil. Blaine was gentle and genuine and he  _loved_  him. Kurt shook his head. “I want to. I want to try. But just…slow,” he murmured. He could do it, for Blaine if not for the withering shell of himself.

            “Are you sure?”

            Kurt smiled wearily, pulling Blaine back down to kiss him chastely. “Yes. I want you.”

            Blaine’s hand returned to his place on Kurt’s chest. “Only if you’re sure. I don’t want to pressure you. No pun intended.”

            Kurt chuckled. “You’re not pressuring me. At all. I want to be with you more than anything. I’m just scared of what it’ll trigger. God, Blaine, I’m scared of how damaged I really am.” The moment the words left his lips, Kurt regretted it. He was just a terrified, worthless little boy again, curled up alone in the hallway. He was so stupid and weak.

            “You’re not damaged. Never.”          

            Kurt’s eyes stung. He wanted so badly to believe Blaine. He dragged the back of his hand across his cheeks, sniffling pathetically.

            “We’ll go slowly, and careful, and  _together.”_

            Kurt smiled. “Just like it used to be.”

            “Just like it used to be.”

 

            “Well, that was…that was incredible.” Kurt’s hair hung in a sweaty mop across his forehead and every inch of his body felt spent. He sighed happily, squeezing Blaine’s hand lovingly and looking up at him from his perch on Blaine’s chest.

            “Incredible doesn’t begin to describe it.”

            “Let’s do that forever.”

            “Please. Yes.”

            Kurt closed his eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of Blaine’s beating heart. “I love you.”

            “I love you, too.” Blaine’s stomach grumbled loudly, throwing them both into a fit of giggles.     

            Kurt sat up, picking up Blaine’s crumpled tee and tossing it over his head. “Let’s make food,” he said, winking coyly over his shoulder as he sauntered into the kitchen. “And then round two.”


	29. You Just Want to Get It Right Sometimes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for past mentions of rape/sexual assault and panic attacks. Happy Pride Week, everyone! Thanks to everyone who reads, reviews and everything in between! This week's song is How You See the World by Coldplay. Enjoy!

_There's so much to be scared of and not much to make sense of_ __  
How did the clowns ever get control? If you're here, can you let me know  
How can they invade it, when it's so complicated?  
Oh,  **you just want to get it right sometimes**  
You just want to get it right sometimes  
  


Midtown New York was beautiful in the afternoon. The usual bustle of people had calmed from morning rush hour into a dull stream of middle-aged mothers and suited business men striding hastily toward a twenty minute lunch break. For the first time in what felt like forever, the sun was shining proudly through a mist of dispersing snow clouds and shedding a soft warmth over the pedestrians below.

After spending the night and the better part of the morning together, Blaine had suggested a late lunch at a quiet restaurant where they could continue to bask in the post-sex glow of each other's company. With a plate of low fat pasta in hand, Kurt took a seat across from Blaine in the deserted top deck of Vapiano's.

            Kurt was feeling good. No, Kurt was feeling  _great._ He was back together with his one true love and they'd just spent the night intertwined beneath the satin sheets of Blaine's bed. All of his problems with Rachel, Aaron and Cecil had been pushed to the back of his mind and buried further with every sweet kiss.

            "Last night was amazing," Blaine remarked around his bite of salad, glancing up at Kurt through his dark lashes.

            Kurt smirked, toying with a particularly difficult noodle. "It was  _incredible_ and all because of you."

            Blaine's cheeks flushed scarlet. "No, you," he protested.

            Kurt bit back a grin as he tipped his wine glass back and downed the sparkling liquid. Being with Blaine was immensely different than it'd been with Aaron. In a way, they'd already known what to do and how to do it. Blaine's body was a map that Kurt had memorized long ago. Little had changed physically since they'd last been intimate, but mentally Blaine was a whole other person. And Kurt was pretty sure he loved Blaine now more than ever.

            He reached across the table, prying Blaine's fingers from his fork and squeezing them. "I love you."

            Blaine's bright-eyed smile was priceless. "I love you, too," he replied. "I love you so much. And I would stay here and tell you how much I love you forever, but nature calls."

            Kurt snorted, waving Blaine off when he stopped at the bottom of the stairs to throw Kurt a pair of well practiced puppy eyes.

            The restaurant was fairly empty around one o'clock in the afternoon, save for the waitresses and cooks who gossiped quietly over countertops. The pulse of charming orchestra music tinkled through the speakers that hung from each corner, blending with the squelch and hiss of oil in a frying pan. It was all soothing, only adding to Kurt's acclimating spirits. The loud wail of the bell above the entrance sliced through the air like a deadly razor and he knew instantly that something was wrong.

            His first instinct was to check his phone and make sure everything with Rachel was okay. As he turned to reach into his pocket, his gaze fell to the front of the diner. And his blood went ice cold.

            Broad shoulders, a tall frame, mahogany hair, delicately tanned skin, electric blue eyes and pale lips pressed into a thin line. Cecil Roger. Kurt couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He couldn't move. The deafening pound of his rapidly beating heart echoed in his ears. He gripped the table with white knuckles, struggling to inhale as his vision blurred. This couldn't be happening. Not here, not now.

            Kurt released a strangled sob, and Cecil's neck snapped up to where he was. His skin blanched and his hands tightened into fists at his sides. Kurt was shaking so hard he was positive he was going to pass out.  _Please, god, no. Please, please, please,_ no.

            Cecil ignored the barista who was attempting to show him to his seat and strode purposefully towards the balcony stairs. The legs of the chair shrieked across the wood floor as Kurt moved backward in a panic. He was going to hurt him again-he was coming to finish what he'd started and- _oh, please, god, no._

Kurt could hear the thump of Cecil's polished shoes against each stair, inching closer and closer. He covered his head with his hands, begging himself to wake up from this horrible nightmare.

            "Kurt, was it?" That was the voice that had plagued his dreams, shaken him awake in the shallows of the night. Kurt was going to puke. Cecil pulled out Blaine's chair and plopped down into it, leaning forward and towering over Kurt's trembling body. "Long time, no see."

            Instinctively, Kurt's fingers fumbled over the outline of his phone. He summoned all of his inner strength, and met Cecil's hardened glare. "What do you want?" he spat between clenched teeth. Blaine had to be coming back soon.  _Please, Blaine, I need you._

            Cecil's stare flickered down to Kurt's pocket. "I see your phone is working fine." The tone of his voice was infuriatingly casual. Although Kurt was facing his worst enemy, the man who'd caused an uncountable number of panic attacks and night terrors; who'd made him terrified to walk the streets, he felt anger more than any other suppressed emotion.

            Cecil couldn't hurt him here, not with the waitresses downstairs and Blaine only a couple floors away. He gathered up all of his pent up fury and distress and channeled it. "What does that have to do with anything?"

            Cecil grabbed Kurt's wine and swallowed the rest of it in one gulp. Swiping Blaine's napkin across his lips-the lips that had left heated, unwanted kisses against his neck and emitted hot, sour breaths against his temple-Cecil shook his head. "Don't play stupid, Kurt. Obviously you got my text. I'm just making sure you're going to keep to it."

            Kurt's mouth tasted like dry cotton. "I-I don't know what you're talking about," he snarled. He was playing a vicious game, messing with Kurt's mind and lowering him further from what had once been his high pedestal.

            Cecil stood up. "Fine. I'll play along. But you better watch your back." With that, he turned on his heel and walked straight down and out of the door.

            Kurt slumped, completely drained. He scrubbed the heel of his palm into his eyes, biting his lip to keep from crying.  _You better watch your back._ What had he done? What did he do wrong? What did he do to deserve this? He'd never gotten any texts from Cecil.  

            "Hey-what's wrong?" He didn't need to look up to know Blaine was kneeling beside him. Kurt jerked away from Blaine's arm, nearly falling onto the ground. "Kurt, honey, please. What happened? What's wrong?"

            Gradually, Kurt accepted the strong grip that drew him to Blaine's chest. "Sweetheart, you're trembling. Whatever it was, it's over. I'm here now."

            They sat like that for a minute, Kurt struggling to time his labored breaths to the steady pump of Blaine's heart. Cecil's words just kept replaying over and over in his exhausted mind. Somewhere, deep down, Kurt had known that Cecil would find him and finish what he'd begun not so long ago. It'd been the worst experience of his life, pinned beneath a massive weight and unable to do anything but take the frantic fumbles and grotesque pressure.

            "He found me," Kurt croaked. Even saying the words out loud made his stomach drop like a stone.

            "Who found you?"

            Kurt shook his head. No, he couldn't say it. It hurt too much. His head was pounding, his heart racing and his body only shaking more with each passing second.  _You better watch your back._

"Kurt, you're scaring me. Please tell me what happened. Who hurt you?" Blaine asked urgently.

            Blaine's polo was damp with Kurt's tears, cool against his cheek. Kurt felt like name bubble up in the back of his throat like bile. "Cecil."

 

            Despite Blaine's attempts at cheering him up, Kurt insisted on taking a cab home. "I need to be by myself for a while," he'd told Blaine, staring hard down at the gum-splattered pavement. "I'll be okay."

            Blaine didn't appear convinced, but he gave Kurt a determined, loving kiss before stepping out into the street to hail a taxi for his boyfriend. Kurt could feel himself sinking lower and lower into the depths he'd just managed to climb himself out of. He'd been incredibly stupid to think everything would remain perfect forever.

            Kurt found Santana draped across his couch, feet in the air while she balanced a bottle of champagne and one of Kurt's  _Vogue_ magazines on her chest when he pushed into his apartment. Kurt kicked the door closed with venom, stomping straight over to Santana, arms crossed and practically fuming. "What. The fuck. Are you doing in my apartment?" he snarled. He was beyond ready to crash into bed and cry his eyes out; to drown himself in the inevitable pain that Cecil continued to be the source of, and Santana was only elevating his anger.

            Santana looked up at him, clearly unaffected by his words. "Oh, hey, Kurt. I broke into your alcohol cabinet, I hope you don't mind. Berry's driving me batshit."

            Kurt pointed towards the door. "Get the fuck out."

            She sat up with a sigh, sucking down another swig of Kurt's champagne. "What's got your testes in a twist, huh? Blaine's hobbit dick didn't hit the spot? Or did he get some of his rainbow glitter cum on your tutu?"

            Kurt dragged his fingers through his hair, willing himself not to explode and tackle Santana to the floor. "Please, Santana. Please, for once in your goddamn life, just leave me alone," he said wearily.

            Santana frowned and patted the empty cushion beside her. "Come and sit down, twinkle toes, and tell mama Santana all about your problems." When Kurt didn't move, she held up the bottle in peace offering gesture and cocked her eyebrows at him.

            Kurt gave in, snatching the champagne from her grasp and collapsing down onto his weathered sofa. They sat in silence, Kurt taking small sips and savoring the sweet burn. He wanted to tell Santana; needed to confide in someone other than Blaine. He picked distractedly at a loose thread in one of his treasured throw pillows.

            "Remember that night at the club," he whispered. Santana nodded. "I...I didn't tell you about everything that h-happened." He tipped his head back, blinking hard against the flood of tears that threatened to fall. "I met this guy and he seemed charming at first."

            "Don't they all," Santana scoffed.

            His stomach churned sickeningly. "He d-d-drugged me," he choked out. "And he tried to...he tried to rape me."

            For a second, Kurt wasn't sure that Santana had even heard what she said. But then his bottle of champagne was wrenched out of his hand and thrown across the room where it shattered in a waterfall of sparkling glass against the far wall. "What the hell?" Kurt cried.

            Santana was up and pacing back and forth, her features livid with rage. "Why didn't you tell anyone? Why the fuck didn't you call the fucking police? Why did you wait this long? Oh, my fucking  _god,_ Kurt!" she shouted.

            Kurt flinched. Out of all of Santana's probable reactions, this had been the one he'd anticipated the least. "I couldn't. I couldn't say anything. He'd kill me."

            "No, I wouldn't let that happen. I'd  _never_ let that happen. He has to pay for what he did, Kurt. Sexual assault is a motherfucking crime and you can't just let him get away with it!" Santana gripped his hands, peering up at him darkly. "We'll go to the police station together. We can file a report and get him locked up."

            Kurt shook his head. "I can't do that. Someday he would get out and track me down and finish what he started-"

            "Then what the fuck else are you supposed to do? You can't just let this dickhead force you to live your life in fear. Besides, how do you know that he'll remember you?"

            He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I saw him. Today. When I was at lunch with Blaine."

            Santana stood back up and began banging cupboards in the kitchen. "Goddammit, Kurt, you weak ass bitch. Why couldn't you have held onto the champagne? All you have left are these stupid strawberry wine coolers. Fuck, can you get any gayer?"

            Kurt had never seen Santana act so mad, and that was really saying something. She wasn't just mad, she was ready to hunt down Cecil and make a sandwich with his penis. Defeated, she returned to the couch and drew her knees to her abdomen. "I'm sorry that happened to you," she said after several uncomfortable minutes of impending silence.

            "I can't do anything to change it."

            "But you can move forward. You don't have to let this stupid incident drown you, Kurt," Santana replied meekly. "I'm here for you. Rachel, Blaine, your dad-we're only here to help. You don't have to go through this alone."

            Kurt couldn't help the tears that slipped down his cheeks. "Thank you. That-that means a lot."  

            "You bet your fairy ass that I'll go all Lima Heights on that fucker's nuts," she exclaimed. "Don't doubt my power. These boobs can crush a skull in under a minute flat."

            Kurt laughed, pulling a reluctant Santana in for a hug. He kissed her temple happily. "I love you."

            "I love you, too, doughface. I love you, too." 


	30. My Missing Puzzle Piece

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the end; the last official chapter before the epilogue. I cannot thank all of you incredible readers for sticking by us through THIRTY chapters! Thank you for all of your support, suggestions and encouragement over the past seven months! The song used this chapter is Teenage Dream by Katy Perry. Enjoy!

_We drove to Cali and got drunk on the beach,_

_Got a motel and built a fort out of sheets._

_I finally found you, **my missing puzzle piece**._

_I'm complete._

Kurt's phone was ringing. Holy shit, why the hell was his phone ringing? He'd just laid down to sleep a mere hour ago. Groaning, Kurt rolled over and fumbled for his cell. He put the device to his ear, only half-awake, and silently cursed whoever had decided calling him was a great idea. "Hello?"

            "Hi, Kurt. It's, uh...It's Christian, if you didn't realize. You sound tired."

            Kurt rolled his eyes. "That's because I was sleeping. It happens to be ten thirty at night, if you didn't notice." Kurt sat up groggily, clearing his throat as he massaged his aching temples with his free hand. "What is it? Did Rachel go into early labor or something because I am not in the mood to see her vagina right now."

            Christian didn't laugh. "Sorry. No, Rachel's fine. I think. Kurt, that would be like eight months premature or something." He took a deep breath and Kurt's nerves spiked. "Sorry. Anyways, I think you need to come to the hospital."

            Kurt tried to swallow, but his throat was so dry it felt like a massive wad of cotton. "If it's not Rachel-oh, god, Blaine." With that, Kurt was stumbling out of his bed and crawling onto the floor. His ears were ringing, his mind blurred with horrific scenarios of what Blaine could've done. Had he tried to...Had he tried to kill himself again?

            There was a deafening crash as he knocked the lamp from his nightstand and then a burn in his left calf as he realized the bulb had shattered across his leg. He could barely hear what Christian said next as he reached blindly for his bedroom doorknob. "Yeah. Something happened and I-I really don't know what to say." Christian sniffled and Kurt's heart dropped into his stomach. "You should just, uh...come to the hospital."

            Kurt shook his head, bursting out of his room and bracing himself on the hallway walls as he barreled into the kitchen. "Please, please tell me he's okay. Please, oh, god. Did he hurt himself again? Fuck, fuck, I'll be right over. Shit."

            "Kurt-" Christian cried before Kurt's phone clattered to the ground. His hair was mussed, his eyes drooping with exhaustion and he was wearing a tank top and sweat pants. He didn't have time to throw on something decent, so he dug his jacket out of the closet and looped one arm through before snatching his wallet off the counter and racing out of his apartment without stopping to lock it.

            The frigid night air of January stung his face and numbed his digits, but he pressed forward into the billowing winds. Blaine needed him. The image of Blaine's broken body, bloodied wrists flopping uselessly as the stretched bumped through the hospital entrance. His chest seized as semi-frozen tears coated the flushed apples of his cheeks. He couldn't lose Blaine-not now, not after everything they'd been through.

            "B-Blaine Anderson, please," he choked out, struggling to catch his breath as he bent over the reception desk, sweat mingled with snow dripping down the sides of his neck. The nurse pointed him in the direction of the visitors unit and he breathed a slow sigh of relief. If Blaine's injuries were severe, he'd be in the intensive care unit.

            Blaine was a wreck. One of his eyes was circled by a swollen black bruise, his nose had been splinted with a blood-caked bandage, his left eyebrow has been crisscrossed with hasty stitches, and his bottom lip soaked his gown with a river of crimson. "You're okay," Kurt whispered, his shoulders slumping. "Fuck, you're okay."

            Blaine jerked in surprise. "Kurt, what're you doing here?"

            And then it all came crashing down. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or maybe just an overflow of stress, but Kurt was  _done._  "What the fuck do you mean what am  _I_ doing here? Christian fucking called me! Do you even realize how scared I was? I thought you tried to  _off_ yourself or something again. Fuck, Blaine, you fucking idiot!" he shouted. Kurt hadn't cursed like that in a long time.

            Blaine's eyes widened as his brows furrowed in shock. "Can you keep your voice down before your yelling splits my fucking head in half? I told you I was going to try and be better for you. I  _told_ you! Did you really not believe me? Did you think that I would really try and do that again when I promised you  _and_ myself that I would be a better person? I get that I'm an idiot, I've been told it enough times that I don't need you to reiterate," he spat.

            Kurt was taken aback. Where the hell did that even come from? He shook his head back and forth, gnawing at the inside of his cheek. "I'm done. Blaine, I am so done with your pity party. Of course I didn't believe you! How could I, after everything you've put me through? I can't keep dealing with this! I can't be fucking terrified every time I receive a phone call. I can't, Blaine. I can't. I need to be able to trust you and know that when you end up in the hospital, it's not because you've gone and hurt yourself again! What the fuck did you do this time, anyways? Please tell me you didn't get into some stupid bar fight because I will come over there and break your fucking nose again." Part of Kurt wanted to reach over and pull the door shut so the other patients couldn't hear their sudden argument.

            "You  _can_ trust me, you're just refusing to try! I haven't hurt myself since I was in the hospital; I haven't gotten  _high_  because I wanted to be able to pull through my problems for  _you_ and you're standing here saying that you can't trust me when I'm trying so fucking hard to give up what I've been doing the past  _four years_ to be a better person to you!" Blaine yelled.

            Blaine didn't understand. No, he just didn't get what he'd put Kurt through. "Look me in my eyes and tell me that you would be able to trust me if I was in your position. Look me in my fucking eyes!" Kurt cried. "You don't get it. I love you and that's exactly why I can't trust you. Anybody else would leave--" Kurt snapped his mouth shut, driving the heel of his hand over his eyes. "I'm so exhausted, Blaine, don't you understand? I've been trying to change for you, too and I'm so tired."

            Blaine's gaze fell to Kurt's feet, where he stared at them as though they were the source of all of their problems. "Anybody else would leave me, I get it. I'm a  _fucking idiot._ "

            Rage exploded like fireworks in the center of Kurt's chest. "Stop it! Stop degrading yourself! Didn't you hear me, you dumbass? I know you're a fucking idiot and I still love you." Kurt sat down in the chair, threading his fingers through his snow-slick hair. "That won't ever be enough, will it? My love for you won't be enough."

            "I never said that."

            The fire fell from Kurt's tone and he took a deep breath. "You didn't have to," he muttered wearily.

            "Well, it's not true." Blaine sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than anything, and that stung.

            "What do I have to do? What do I have to do to prove to you that I'm not going anywhere, that I'm here to stay? I've seen you in your lowest and your highest and fuck, Blaine, it only makes you love me more," he said, determined to make sure Blaine believed him this time.

            "Maybe I'm scared to trust you, too!" Blaine retaliated, the venom lacing back through his voice as quickly as it had disappeared. "The first time I wasn't strong enough for you, you  _left._  You left me behind because I was too scared to turn in my fucking father for hitting me. Who's to say that I'm not going to have another shitty low like that? Who's to say that you won't leave, then?"

            That hurt. Blaine knew what to say to make it burn the most, and he'd certainly acquired his target. "See? This is what I'm talking about. You won't let that go. That was four years ago, Blaine,  _four years_ and you still bring it up every time. I'm done. I'm done with trying to defend myself and done with trying to prove something, which you obviously don't believe exists. You were into  _drugs,_ you had sex with strangers every night and the first time I saw you, you were so drunk out of your mind that you couldn't even recognize me. And you have the audacity to say  _you_ can't trust  _me_?"

            "I'm allowed to be scared, too, Kurt! I'm a fucking human being; I make mistakes, I fuck myself up, I ruin my own life one second at a time and I. Am. Scared! Are you saying that you're allowed to be worried what I'm going to do but I'm not allowed to be worried about what you might? I'm not fucking invincible!"

            This was escalating much too quickly. Last night they'd been in love, sliding more and more into ecstasy with each heated kiss. But now... "I'm not either. I can't deal with this forever."

            "Oh but I can? I can just go on forever fucking up my own life? I  _love_  you, you absolute moron. Why else would I be in here right now if it wasn't for that fucking asshole Ce--" Blaine stopped and Kurt felt his blood run cold.  _No. Please no._

            "What? What did you-please tell me you didn't. Blaine, please tell me he did not do this to you," Kurt begged desperately. He was such an  _idiot_  to think Cecil wouldn't find out about Blaine and drag him down too. Blaine didn't answer and that scared Kurt more than anything else. "If you don't tell me the truth, I'm leaving. Blaine, I will walk out of that damn door and hunt Cecil down myself."

            Kurt watched as Blaine opened his mouth, and then thought better of himself and closed it. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

            "Blaine, what. The fuck. Did he do to you?"

            "He looks worse."

            Kurt's hands were trembling where he twisted them in his lap. "He must've followed you home from Vapiano's. I'm so sorry, it's all my fault. I should've gotten him arrested or something, I'm so sorry," he said bitterly. Of course all of this had happened because of him.

            "No. Not exactly. It's not your fault; it's mine. As per usual," Blaine piped up, his face just as blank as his tone.

            Kurt didn't even know how to react at this point. Every single nerve ached and his brain throbbed from fatigue. "What do you mean ‘not exactly'?"

            "I might've texted him and organized a little...meeting..." Blaine replied softly.

            Kurt stood up and began to pace across the bleached hospital tile. "No. You wouldn't do that. You're not that-you're not that stupid."

            "Apparently I've become more stupid, because yeah, I did," Blaine deadpanned.

            Kurt tipped his head back and squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. "Why? Just...why?"

            "I wanted to. I wanted to protect you. I saw what he did to you at Vapiano's and I needed to do something. I couldn't just sit there and wait."

            "I can protect myself," Kurt snapped. He wasn't a baby penguin in high school anymore. "Did you really think going out there and getting yourself beat up was going to make a difference? Fuck, Blaine, now he's probably even more furious."

            "You sure didn't look like you could protect yourself when you were having panic attacks over his name. Like I said, he's worse off than I am," he scoffed sourly.

            Kurt collapsed back into the chair, drawing his knees up to his chest and burying his face into the damp fabric of his sweat pants. He'd never felt so numb in his life. "Whatever. You're right. You win. I hope you're happy."

            "I was just trying to help..." Blaine croaked pitifully.

            "I know."

            "I'm sorry."

            "Me too."

            "What we're doing...what we're trying to make happen..." Kurt bit back a sob. "It's not healthy, Blaine. It's just not."

            "We can fix this. We can," insisted Blaine, but Kurt wasn't so sure. It just felt like he was trying and trying and trying and it was only making everything worse.

            Kurt climbed to his feet again, eyes stinging. "I don't think we can."         

            There was a creak of the mattress and then a snap as Blaine stumbled towards him. "We can! We can fix this! We can make it work!" Blaine said.

            Kurt's heart shattered in his chest as he turned away. "I'm sorry."

            "Kurt. Don't go, please don't go. Please! I  _need_ you!" Blaine called after him, but he was already striding down the hallway with a waterfall of tears streaming down his cheeks. He was walking away, he was leaving his true love on the floor of a clinic, he was-

            " _Before you met me, I was alright but things were kind of heavy. You brought me to life. Now every February, you'll be my valentine. Valentine."_ Kurt covered his mouth with his hand.   
" _Let's go all the way tonight, no regrets, just love. We can dance until we die. You and I will be young forever."_ Kurt stepped back into the room, looking down at his boyfriend. He hated him, but at the same time-with every word, he felt himself falling harder and harder for Blaine. " _You make me feel like I'm living a teenage dream. The way you turn me on, I can't sleep. Let's run away and don't ever look back. Don't ever look back. My heart stops when you look at me. Just one touch, now baby I believe this is real. So take a chance and don't ever look back. Don't ever look back.."_

A beat passed between them, and Kurt saw uncertainty flash through his hazel eyes, but then he was opening his mouth and the words slipped from his tongue easily. Kurt wasn't sure he was ready to stay in a relationship with Blaine. He wasn't sure he was even ready to be out of a relationship with Blaine, but there was one thing he knew for sure. He loved Blaine. All of their work, and agony and sacrifice hadn't been for nothing. Even if they weren't meant to be romantically, they were still made for each other and they would find a way to make it work, through thick and thin.

 _"We drove to Cali and got drunk on the beach. Got a motel and built a fort out of sheets. I finally found you, my missing puzzle piece. I'm complete."_ He fell to the floor and cupped Blaine's jaw. _"Let's go all the way tonight, no regrets, just love. We can dance until we die. You and I, we'll be young forever. You make me feel like I'm living a teenage dream, the way you turn me on. I can't sleep, let's run away and don't ever look back._ Don't ever look back."


End file.
